


Sorta Malicious Madness

by Joyful_Bones



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Spooky themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:33:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 64,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joyful_Bones/pseuds/Joyful_Bones
Summary: For the Madhouse's SortaSpooky October challenge.If a Miss Meg Turney still stalks her ao3 tag she may wish to skip to chapters 23 and 31, because some of these stories are *pretty yikes*





	1. Trapped

Ryan came awake to the smell of damp mould and steel. He shifted, shivering at the feel of chilled metal against his face. He lifted up. The sound of clinking made him pause.

He looked down. Immediately he bolted upright, alarm chasing the last of the fog from his brain. There were manacles on his wrists, and a chain that led to the floor. A quick look around showed that he was in a large glass tube. The thin layer of water on the floor had soaked into his clothes while he was out, leaving him frozen to the bone.

His hands lifted to his face and came away smudged with white. At least his paint was still on. His mask, however was nowhere to be seen.

There was a crackle and a slight screech of interference that made him wince. Then a voice boomed over a speaker, coming from somewhere in the darkness.

“Ah, you’re awake. Excellent. This would have been a lot less funny if you slept through it.”

Immediately Ryan surged upwards, trying to slam into the glass. The chain yanked painfully, preventing him from lifting his hands too high.

“Let me the fuck out!” he bellowed, beyond furious. With the realisation that he was not alone in this darkened facility all of his careful observation seemed pointless. Whoever had stuck him in here was going to free him now, or die for their mistake. 

“Relax. Your crew are on their way, they’ll let you out when they get here. Do you know where you are?”

Ryan peered out. He could make out shapes, and some faintly glowing lights. It looked like there were other tanks, most of them much, much larger than his. And unlike his tank, they appeared to be full of dark, shifting shapes.

“You’re at the aquarium, Mr Vagabond. Have you ever been? It’s very relaxing.”

Ryan seethed, but an unpleasant suspicion niggled at his brain. 

“When I find you,” he said, knowing he should bite his tongue but unable to refrain from retorting, “I’ll make you eat your kneecaps.”

“You’re very chatty. I like that. It’s a shame we can’t talk longer, but the aquarium opens in a few hours and there’s going to be a new exhibit. So you might want to stop talking and conserve your oxygen, because you might be running out of it very, very soon…”

With a click the speaker switched off, no other words forthcoming. Ryan’s heart dropped as he heard a trickling sound. Soon water began to pour into the tank from multiple angles. 

He backed away from the glass. Already a puddle had formed at his feet, and he shuddered to imagine it soaking into his clothes anymore than it already had. For a moment he just looked around in desperation. 

The roof was too high to reach. Maybe he could have scaled it if his wrists hadn't been chained, but as he was he had no way of escaping or trying to block the valves letting in water.

He thumped and kicked at the glass. The restraints prevented him from too much movement. In a tank this small he had no way to build up momentum. Bit by bit the water rose, lapping at his calves now.

Ryan crouched down and yanked fruitlessly at the chains. Maybe there was a lock he could pick, or a faulty link… But no. The end of the chain was welded to the floor, and though he yanked and yanked, it would not yield. Clearly a lot of thought had gone into this. Even if he wasn’t frozen and panicked, he wouldn’t have had the strength to break free.

His heart rate rose with the water. Every inch that crept higher made him dizzier with stress. Ryan found himself racing back and forth from one side of the tank to the next, cupping his hands against the glass and looking out. He searched for somebody, his captor, his crew. Hell even a janitor working late. There had to be someone. 

He turned again and had to wade through the water, which now reached his waist. Pounding his fists against the glass, he started shouting at the top of his lungs. Who knew how deep he was into the building but he had to try. Maybe someone outside would hear. Even if they couldn’t break the chains they could surely turn off the water, or break the glass.

He shouted again. It turned to a scream, voice breaking when the icy water hit his neck. The flow seemed faster than before, and before long he was tilting his head back to keep his mouth free. His toes lifted from the floor. With his hands chained together he had to kick to keep himself afloat.

“Let me out!” he begged. “Somebody! Please!”

And then he was under. He kicked, burst free just long enough to steal one last breath. The next time he tried, the chain stopped him. Ryan strained, kicking with his head tilted towards the last sliver of air at the top of the tank. But his hands kept him firmly in place, tethered to the floor.

Ryan twisted in the water, swimming down. He got his feet beneath him, wrapping his hands around the chain. He heaved. Muscles straining and boots slipping against the floor of the tank. His wrists screamed in pain. It felt like he might break them, pulling this hard. Something popped and he screamed wordlessly, foolishly. Bubbles raced away from him. 

He fought the urge to chase them, keeping his attention on the chain. Ryan yanked. Closed his eyes and pulled with all his strength. 

Something slammed against the tank. It startled him, eyes flying open and fingers slipping free of the chain. There were hands pressed against the glass, and behind them was Jeremy. His battle buddy. He almost smiled, dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

Jeremy did not smile. His expression was horrified, and Ryan swam to him, feet floating up so that he was almost upside down. Hands mirroring his on the glass, Ryan watched his crew member look around frantically. Jeremy left for a moment and Ryan’s heart lurched. He wanted to shout for him to come back.

And then he returned with a chair in his hands.

He swung it, slamming it into the glass. It barely scratched it, though Ryan felt the impact through his hands. Jeremy planted his feet and swung again. Floating backwards, Ryan righted himself lazily to watch. His lungs were on fire but it was okay, his crew was here. Jeremy was going to get him out.

His vision was going dark and fuzzy at the edges. More bubbles slipped free of his lips, almost without him noticing. A crack split the glass. Another hit widened it, but still bubbles spilled from his mouth, obscuring his vision. Hiding Jeremy from view. Was he even really there, or had he imagined it? 

Ryan closed his eyes and drifted. The last of his air abandoned him.

Beyond his hearing, something shattered.


	2. Possessed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for spooks, goofs and cliff-hangers. These might not all be ficlets, I'll see how it goes.
> 
> Achievement Haunter AU, in which the boys are competent lol

“Have you seriously been reading this shit Ryan?” Michael asked skeptically, flipping through one of the books he’d brought on the Achievement Haunter set.

“Yeah, and?” Ryan replied, a little defensive. “I want to do this right! I’m the tech guy, I’m supposed to know stuff. There’s a lot in those books about summoning spirits and whatever.”

Michael shut the book with a snort. “Whatever. They should have paired you and Gavin up, you could have strapped him up in some ritual circle.”

“I mean, we could still do the ritual…”

Michael met his puppy-dog gaze and rolled his eyes. 

“Sure. Why not. I’ll be bait, since Gavin’s not here.”

“Do you think you have what it takes?” Ryan joked as he began unzipping his backpack. 

“How dare you. Should I do my Gavin screaming impression or my Geoff shitting his pants impression?”

Ryan made a disgusted noise and Michael grinned in response. He sat back to watch as Ryan began setting up. The man paged through his book, carefully consulting it before each step. He drew a pentagram on the floor in chalk and symbols at each corner. Michael had to hold the torch for him since it was pitch dark in the basement they were in.

At least until Ryan fetched out a bundle of candles and started placing them at specific points. He lit them and a pleasant glow infused the room. It did not bring much warmth with it, however. Ryan bit his lip as he set a few other things to the side; salt, sage, a wand made of crystal- some of it came from the book and some were things that had been gifted to him. It wouldn’t hurt to see what worked. If any of it worked.

“Now what?” Michael asked, the moment Ryan paused.

He scratched his head, reading. “Now I guess we need something or someone in the middle. You already called bait, so…”

“We should have flipped for it.” Nevertheless, Michael set down his torch in the corner and stepped over the line of chalk. Something prickled at the back of his neck. He took a seat in the middle of the markings, trying his best to look unaffected.

“Okay Dumbledork, now what?”

“Okay, uh...let’s see…” Ryan put his torch down to hold the book, and bent closer towards a candle so that he could read the writing inscribed in it. He squinted for a minute. Then he began to read.

The words came haltingly at first. They weren’t in English, and if Michael had to guess he’d assume it was Latin, but only because that’s what it always was in the movies. He listened to Ryan fumble his way through the first few lines.

And then, bit by bit, they became smooth like silver, falling from his tongue effortlessly. A certain stormy confidence seemed to take over the other man. His eyes never wavered from the words on the page, but it was like he wasn’t even seeing them. The candles flickered. Michael felt a chill run up his spine. 

After a moment he gave in to the urge to look behind him. There was only darkness. Unsettled, he turned back to face Ryan, and the words seemed much louder now, like they were being spoken directly into his ears. There was an echo to them. Coming from either side of him. Had there been an echo before? He hadn’t noticed one…

Michael shuddered, and chose to focus on Ryan. Any second now he would mess up, and then they would laugh, and Ryan would get flustered. It was inevitable. The man could barely speak English half the time, there was no way he would get through an entire page of Latin. Michael was impressed he had made it this far.

But he watched, and waited, and with each curling vowel and bitten consonant, the air in the room seemed to thicken and chill. Michael waited- but Ryan did not fumble a single line. Now that he thought about it...it didn’t even sound like his voice anymore.

Something sharp raked across Michael’s hand.

He flinched, swearing. Immediately the chanting stopped. When had it become chanting? 

Ryan blinked as if he’d just woken up, then looked at Michael in concern.

“You alright Michael?”

“Yeah, I just...fuck something bit me, or I cut my hand or something, I dunno.”

Ryan closed the book and reached for his backpack, no doubt looking for a bandage or his flashlight. In the meantime Michael brought his hand closer to one of the candles to frown at it. There was a jagged cut across the back of his hand, and from it beads of scarlet began to well up. 

Blood slid elegantly down his hand, pooled there and then fell. Dots of it marred the otherwise smooth lines of chalk beneath him. It turned the white markings pink, but in this lighting the droplets almost seemed to glow.

Michael looked up and saw a mouth full of teeth in the shadows.

Every single candle went out in an instant.

 

Ryan straightened in the sudden darkness. “Michael?”

He heard a choked-off gasp and a loud scraping noise, and bolted to his feet. His back hit a wall. Cursing his own reaction, Ryan took a second to calm his breathing and call again.

“Michael? You alright?” Silence. “If this is a prank I am absolutely gonna murder your ass.”

When no reply came, Ryan strained his eyes in an attempt to adjust to the pitch black room. He could see a faint ring of light where Michael’s torch sat on the floor, pointing downwards. He inched towards it.

“Okay, that’s enough. You’re hilarious.” 

He knew it was a joke. But he couldn’t convince his heart rate of that. So instead he fell silent and eased away from the wall. He walked towards the flashlight. His footsteps seemed loud in the quiet of the room. But at least they didn’t echo. That would have been really creepy.

All of his senses were going haywire. He swore there were eyes on the back of his neck. Probably a camera, the bastards. 

He snatched up the torch and immediately swung it to face behind him. There was nothing but spinning dust mites and a lasting curl of smoke from the candles. Ryan advanced slowly, sweeping the beam back and forth. He expected to find cameras, his crew waiting to leap forth and scare him. But he found no trace of anyone.

Which was when he remembered Michael and turned back towards the summoning circle. The light beam fell at his feet first. His toe was over the line of the outer circle, and beyond that...wet, bloody claw marks led away from the centre.

Ryan took a stumbling step backwards, scuffing the chalk as he did so. His eyes shot down to the floor right as he heard a low chuckle.

Michael’s voice met him from the shadows. The words echoed, two voices in one.

“I wasn’t expecting a story time tonight,” said someone who definitely wasn’t his friend. “That was a nice reading there, Rybread.”

Ryan stood frozen to the spot, struck suddenly with a deep and instinctual terror. The only thought in his head was ‘of all the times not to flub.’

And then Michael stepped into the light. His eyes did not reflect the torch’s beam. His smile was unnaturally wide. As Ryan stared at him in horror, struck with an overwhelming sense of wrongness, that smile widened with an audible _crack._

“You picked those tricks up quickly,” he- _it-_ said, stalking towards him. It stopped at the edge of the circle and looked down. Reached out a shoe and lazily toed at the break in the chalk line, making it wider. Wide enough to step though. 

“But not quick enough,” it said, and lunged at him.


	3. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sky Factory AU. This ones a weird one

Ryan tapped his finger against the egg. The shell made no sound, but it did glow just a little bit brighter at his touch. It was eerie, the way it seemed to draw all noise and light towards itself. The room it was kept in felt as devoid of life as the empty space they sometimes explored.

“What kind of dragon did you say this was again?” he called over his shoulder. 

“Don’t know,” said Jack.

Ryan straightened up, away from the pedestal the egg was perched on top of. His brow furrowed.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

Jack shrugged where he was tending to the winged beasts in their pens. 

“I found it in the nether, in a cave. Its mother must have abandoned it. I’ve done some research but I can’t find any mention of an egg like this. We’ll have to wait until it hatches to find out.”

Ryan thought for a moment, staring at the egg.

“You could ask the Void.”

“Seriously, Ryan? That thing is creepy, why are you so fixated on it? Nobody else is stupid enough to go near that place.”

“It was here before us. It probably knows things we haven’t even touched upon yet.”

“Maybe- but we’ll get there.” Jack stroked the scaled snout of a sky dragon. “This world is just a baby, and it’s our job to raise it right. Not some unnamed Entity.”

“Sure,” Ryan said, but his tone was doubtful. 

He studied the egg a little while longer before striding from the building. The moment he was outside he took to the sky. Jetpacks had long since been replaced with shimmering armour that made gravity an afterthought. Although he still kept the first among his things, proud of his invention.

He skipped over the wheat field, toes brushing the tops of corn stalks. Geoff studiously ignored him when he flew over, all of his attention on his chickens. He kept threatening to leave them and continue building on his own, but he hadn’t yet. Michael yelled at him when he passed by. Jeremy waved from his blood alter and sunlight blinded him briefly as Gavin adjusted his solar panels.

Beyond them, surrounding on all sides was an endless sea of stars. They still had so much left to build. Sure, they had created life, and infrastructure, and magic. But they’d barely even begun to fill the space. 

The others called his interest in the Void creepy, and perhaps they were right. The being was unsettling. They all steered clear of it, but there was no forgetting its existence. Ryan was tired of avoiding it in conversations. If they had to share their new universe with some eldritch horror, they might as well take advantage of it and stop treating it like something to fear.

This world was theirs. All that they had, they had built with their own hands.

But this egg...that was an anomaly, and something about it unsettled Ryan.

It remained on his mind for the rest of the day. Finally he couldn’t take it any longer. The sun went down the same time Gavin did, and the others followed suit, taking their well-deserved rest. Ryan made some last attunements to his machines and stopped in to check on the egg. It glowed brighter than before.

Then he headed to the edge of what they’d built. He looked out into the all-consuming darkness. It yawned open, almost invitingly, and for a second he considered going back to bed and giving up this idea entirely.

Ryan closed his eyes and fell forward.

He plummeted, air rushing past him. The further he fell, the colder it got, and the tighter his heart clenched. When the chill began to numb his fingers he opened his eyes and flipped, feet touching down on an unseen platform. It was not quite a smooth landing and he stumbled a little on righting himself. Then he straightened and looked around.

The tiniest pinpricks of stars shone far above him, some blocked out by the platform they lived on. But down here, there was only darkness. It leached up from the void and became solid, forming the ground he stood on now. As he watched, the inky black began to grow and unfold from itself. It took on unfamiliar shapes. Staring at it made his head hurt. Ryan persisted, trying to distinguish wings and teeth and eyes from the shifting mass of shadows, but eventually it became too much.

He looked away. His head spun for a minute and he focused on his shoes until it eased.

The voice that spoke was without age, gender or tone. But the words vibrated in his chest.

_“So you finally braved the Void,”_ it laughed/crackled/rasped. _“It’s been a long time since any of you fell.”_

“We know better now,” Ryan replied, fighting the urge to clutch at his chest. Whenever it spoke his heart stuttered. He felt like his own body was a tuning rod for its voice.

 _“If you knew better,”_ it said/groaned/screamed, _“You would not be here.”_

Ryan tried to shiver and found he couldn’t. Perhaps this had been a mistake. He was unnerved but forged on anyway.

“We found an egg,” he said. “It glows, and it’s unlike any of the others. We’ve seen all kinds of dragons, and some of their eggs were strange, true. But this one is different. It sucks the life and sound out of anything close to it. It’s like...like a black hole.”

It shifted. Ryan didn’t look at it, too worried he might throw up at the sight, but he got the sense that it was much, much larger than him.

He took a breath. “You have existed for an eternity. Before we were even wished into existence you were here in your slumber. I know you know what it is. Is this a dragon at all? Will it be powerful? How will we know how to care for it, if it’s so different to everything we've seen before?”

 _“You talk too much,”_ it chided/snapped/hissed. _“I will answer your question if you give me something in return.”_

Ryan’s heart flipped and he looked up without thinking. Immediately his eyes burned at the impossibility of what he was seeing, and he tore his gaze away again just as fast.

“What?” he asked cautiously.

 _“What, what, what,”_ it echoed/mocked/jeered. _“So many questions, so many demands. You will want what I have to tell you, little godling, but I have no interest in giving it to you. Like children you come here and think this universe is yours to play with. I have been God since before you, and I will be when you are gone. I am Timeless. I am Darkness. You are nothing in comparison.”_

Ryan swallowed. Wisely kept silent.

It shifted again. _“I will take your voice. So that I never have to hear your worthless questions again.”_

He tensed at the words, alarmed.

_“Cheer up, little godling. You will have your answer in return, and here it is; you have found the egg of an Infinity dragon. Age does not define them, for there is only ever one alive at a time. When they feel themselves approaching death they lay an egg, so that when they die they may reincarnate and continue their eternal passage through the stars._

_Because that is what they are, godling. They are stars, incarnate. This egg glows because it is gathering the energy of its parent as they fade, preparing to hatch. Somewhere in the endless sea, the last Infinity dragon is dying. Do you know what happens when a star dies, little godling?”_

It loomed closer, and Ryan felt the presence of a thousand eyes on him, all glittering maliciously.

_“They explode.”_

His head snapped up. The darkness howled/cackled/wept as Ryan spun and leapt, taking off into the air as fast as he could. The cold leeched at him, as if threatening to drag him back down. Shadows lashed at his ankles. He grit his teeth and leaned into his speed, shooting up towards the stars guiding him.

The first vestiges of sunlight were shining as he finally reached the platform. Already the others were up and about. Geoff was yawning when Ryan touched down heavily beside him, startling the other man. He cursed something but Ryan ignored it. Just started running across the bridges connected their regions. He passed Jeremy at a sprint, his friend calling out to him in confusion. Gavin looked up in surprise and he snatched a hammer out of his hand as he shouldered by him. 

“Hey Ryan!” Jack greeted him as he burst into the dragon emporium. “What’s- Ryan!”

He tried to tell him to move but the words stuck in his throat. Thinking nothing of it, Ryan shoved past him and raised the hammer above his head. He swung it down.

“Ryan no!”

Jack collided with him, taking them both to the floor. The hammer went skittering away. Ryan shoved at him, yelling at him to get off- but no sound came out of his mouth. A sudden realisation struck him right in the gut. He felt the blood drain from his face.

On its pedestal the egg began to glow brighter, twitching slightly as if its contents were disturbed by their fighting. Ryan pushed Jack off but the man was bigger than him and easily kept him pinned to the floor. The egg thrummed with light. Panicked, Ryan drew his arm back and clocked Jack across the jaw. He rocked back, stunned and pained.

“Hey, what the fuck!” 

Michael charged towards them, grabbing Ryan and hauling him away from Jack. The others were also pouring into the emporium, drawn by Ryan’s strange behaviour and the following sounds of a fight. Ryan thrashed against his grip. Jeremy and Jack both rushed to help restraint him.

“What the bloody hell Ryan?” Gavin yelped. 

“He’s gone fucking nuts!” Jack said. “He was trying to break the egg and then he hit me!”

“Ryan, what is going on?”

And Ryan...couldn’t answer. He tried, he truly did, but he could hardly open his mouth. Nothing came out except for a silent gasp of air. The words sat heavy in his throat, desperate to be said, to be _screamed_ , but he could not do anything to let them out. He had to explain, he had to warn them. Ryan tried again and again. But his voice was stolen. Left in the void. He had no words to share anymore.

The longer he went without speaking, the deeper their frowns became.

“Maybe he hit his head,” Geoff suggested. “He might have brain damage.”

“Come on man, let’s go lay down okay?” Jeremy said. They began to lead him towards the exit and immediately Ryan started struggling. 

“Ryan, please-”

He shouted, silently. There were at least three sets of hands on him, becoming four when he managed to elbow Michael in the nose. His feet were lifted off the ground. They carried him kicking and raging towards the door. 

A cracking sound split the air. Ryan froze, and that made the others pause, all of them looking towards the sound in confusion. On its pedestal the egg rocked back and forth. Then it tumbled from its perch and hit the ground.

The shell split open and the world went white.


	4. Dusk

Ryan was hungry. His stomach growled at him unhappily, and his mouth twisted. Home was still a long way away. Already the sun was dipping towards the horizon, nudging the city into that hazy, dreamlike state between day and night.

Dusk had fallen. Along the street people drew their shutters, locked their doors. A child cried and was quickly silenced. Ryan walked the streets alone.

He looked left and right before turning down a darkened alley. Shortcuts were his only chance of getting home before nightfall. It was already a risk to be out this late. Who knew what manner of creatures could be lurking around the next corner.

His stomach grumbled again, and he stopped walking.

Ahead of him, something peeled away from the shadows. Its form was loose and shifting, like a curtain in the wind. A slight breeze, a titter of laughter, and then that form split in two. Ryan blinked. Suddenly there were a pair of men at the end of the alley. They were nearly identical, and blocked his path.

“It’s late,” said the first.

“You’re late,” laughed the second.

“Too late,” said the third, and this voice came from behind him. Ryan fought the urge to spin around, the back of his neck crawling. Opaque, twitching fingers crawled along his shoulders like spiders.

“Hello boys,” he greeted carefully. All three laughed in unison. He kept his expression blank as they cackled.

“Boys, he calls us!” 

“We’re the dusk boys!”

“He got to name us, we shall name him!”

Cool, spectral fingers traced his chin as the third scooted back to join his brethren, looking gleeful.

“I call him...Lovely!”

“I call him...Delicious!”

“I call him a Snack. A lovely, delicious snack!”

They chittered, and the fading light passed through their bodies as if they were simply visions. But Ryan knew that they were a very real danger. They might be teasing him, but they posed a threat and could not to be disregarded so lightly. 

“I have nothing for you,” Ryan warned them.

“You have, and we want it. But we are not so cruel.”

“We will gift you in return! We know the greed of mortals.”

“We’ve tasted your hearts. They are sweetest when fat with riches, so let us grant your greatest wish.”

“For one million dollars…” the third spectral grinned at him, eyes colourless and without pupils, “Would you trade us your soul?”

They hovered before him, untouched by the wind or the cold. Ryan stayed silent a moment out of politeness, pretending to consider the offer.

“No thank you,” he said finally, and the three of them groaned.

“Too easy, too simple!” chided the tallest spirit. “This is a man who knows his worth!”

They split apart and began to circle him. Ryan’s hunger intensified, rumbling audibly. One of them laughed.

“He hungers also! He knows our pain.”

“If he knows now he will again. You do not want money, what do you crave?”

One ducked under his arm, hand brushing along his hip as it came up in front of him. Ryan forced himself to stay still.

“For pleasure beyond imagining,” it teased, as the others cooed and ran their hands over him, “Would you give us your soul?”

He shook his head. The spirit pouted.

“Please?”

“Now now Fredo, the man said no. One question, one answer, you know the rules.”

Ryan shook himself, and they all startled backwards slightly at the movement. It gave him room to breathe at least.

“You have one more question, spirits,” he told them, as the sun sank lower and shadows flooded the alleyway. “Then I must be on my way. Your time is almost up.”

They huddled, hissing and whispering. The tallest drew up, seeming to grow larger as it hung in the air above him. 

“What is the price,” it asked him, voice low and severe in comparison to the others, “Of one human soul?”

That made Ryan pause. His head tilted in thought, and before him the wraiths perked up. Their excitement was evident in the way they flickered in and out of view.

“For one human soul?” he clarified, tapping his chin. They all echoed it in agreement. He drew the moment out, just to watch them squirm. But his grumbling belly made him give in.

“I’m hungry. In return for one full meal, I will trade you a soul.”

They erupted with delight, cheering and jeering.

“Is that all? Is that all?”

“This human is a fool! He is lovely and delicious and _stupid!_ ”

“He feasts, and then, we feast!”

“Please,” he interrupted their celebration, “After you.”

With no other permission necessary, they spun and swirled in the air, diving for him like streaks of smoke. Their outstretched hands reached for his chest. Before they reached him he pulled a small pouch from his pocket and held it up. They pulled up short. Heads tilted in puzzlement as the spirits inspected the bag in his hand.

“A trick?” one asked.

“A treat?”

“Some unforeseen feat?” 

“Open it,” he prompted. The pouch was snatched from his hand. They gathered around it, and released the strings. A soft glow spilled out, passing right through them and illuminating the darkened alleyway. They gasped in awe and hunger. Then the tallest snapped the bag shut, and they were plunged into darkness once more. It was no longer dusk. No longer their territory.

Night was upon them, and Ryan faced off against three suddenly wary spirits.

“What is this?” demanded the one in front. 

“A human soul,” Ryan replied calmly. “Is it not what you wanted?”

“We want _your_ soul!”

“I have none.”

They reeled backwards, shocked and clinging to each other.

“The human stole a soul!” one fretted, and the others shushed it.

“I never claimed to be human,” Ryan said. “In any case, the trade is done. You have your soul, and now I will have my meal.”

And as the last shred of light faded away to nothing, he finally gave in to the hunger.

The wraiths screamed, and Ryan fed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one really thought Ryan would stay innocent in every story right?


	5. Corrupt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eat your veggies kids

“You’ve cracked.”

Ryan looked up from the map, frowning.

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said it’s cracked.” Gavin waved towards his own head as example. “Your crown, there’s a crack in it.”

“Ah.” He reached up, feeling gingerly along the metal. Sure enough, his fingers caught on a jagged edge. “Damn.”

“You want me to call Jack to repair it?”

Ryan waved him off. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Jack’s needed in the forge.”

“It doesn’t matter how many new weapons we’ve got, Rybread, if there aren’t any soldiers left to hold them. I can barely swing one sword, there’s no use giving me three.”

“When the crown’s on, it’s King to you, Gavin.”

“Come off it. I’ll call you King when you’ve earned the title,” he scoffed, and he was teasing but the words stung anyway. 

Ryan stared at the map again to hide his hurt. Armies advanced from the east and north, and from the south west a swarm of monsters had been spotted in the hundreds. It didn’t matter which threat arrived first. Either way, the City would be overrun within hours.

He clenched his hands into fists. 

“Hey...It’ll be alright, Ryan. You’ll figure something out.”

He took a breath and forced a smile.

“Of course, Gav,” he said, though it must not have been very convincing, judging by the concern in his friend’s eyes. “There is nothing I would not do to protect this kingdom.”

“Right.”

“Fetch Michael for me, will you? I need to know the state of our army.”

He kept his regal posture until the door closed behind Gavin. Then his shoulders slumped. He roughly rolled up the map, sick of looking at it and the doom it foretold. Ryan sat down heavily in his throne and put his head in his hands.

The crown wasn’t the only thing cracking under the pressure.

 

 

When Geoff left, it shook the foundations of everything they knew. Maybe they were overly familiar with their king, maybe they didn’t quite take his regency seriously. But he was still their leader. There was still a hierarchy that they all understood, even on the days they actively challenged it.

But Geoff grew older, and wiser. And instead of becoming an older, wiser king, he called Ryan before him one day and told him he was leaving.

“There’s business that needs to be done beyond our borders,” he said grimly. “Business too important to delegate, and too sensitive to explain. I have to go, but Ryan, I’m leaving you in charge.”

Ryan shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was anyway. Sure he often took point on projects, and the others often followed his lead (although only as long as nobody pointed it out, or then they would deliberately rebel out of protest). But that didn’t make him a king. 

“Why not Jack?” he asked. “Or Michael…” 

But even as he spoke he knew the reasons why. He trailed off, thoughts whirling to find a better alternative. Surely he couldn’t be the best candidate for the throne. He was terrible at speeches, would rather fixate on bizarre solo projects or work behind the scenes than make the decisions for an entire kingdom. 

Geoff looked at him without any of the humour he was known for.

“I’m giving you this title because you’re the only one who I trust to make the hard decisions,” he said. “And believe me Ryan- they will be hard. There are days where you might risk losing land, friends, even yourself. You’ll have to be careful not to fall to pieces when things get rough.”

He’d made Ryan kneel. There was no celebration, no affair. Geoff had simply set the crown on his head, said some words of officiation. The next morning he was gone and the others entered the throne room to find Ryan already seated there.

 

 

“Send a battalion.”

“They’ll be slaughtered,” Michael argued.

Ryan took a beat to centre himself. “They’ll die anyway if we can’t stop this first wave. We need to slow the monsters down long enough to deal with the Northern army. Otherwise we’ll have no chance.”

“Then send more men! These numbers are too small, they won’t stand a chance!”

His hands tightened on the throne’s arms. A sudden headache made it hard to focus, the pain piercing and unavoidable. 

“Send Jeremy’s band with them,” he said finally. “Each of his men are worth ten. Even the Endermen won’t be able to withstand their attack.”

Michael relaxed, fury leaking away. 

“Thank you my liege,” he said, then seemed to pause. “I mean- thanks Ryan.”

They both brushed over the slip, Ryan waving him off to begin preparations. He rubbed at his temples in hopes of easing the pain. There was a knock on the door. Sighing, he straightened, and waited to hear what the next problem was.

 

 

They were torn to bloody scraps. It was Gavin who reported it, cheeks wet with tears and bottom lip trembling. Apparently Michael was already off trying to retrieve the bodies. They had already found Jeremy’s, and from the way Gavin described it, the only reason they could identify him was the brightly coloured engravings on his armour.

His headache pounded, and what was worse it felt like the sharp pain had crept down his spine. Ryan wanted to crack his neck to relieve the pressure but he didn’t. Instead he forced himself to stay still and listen as Gavin explained what had happened.

The hoard was even bigger than they’d thought. Even with the extra men, they hadn’t stood a chance. And now, strong with new blood and the thrill of the kill, the monsters were progressing even faster. Instead of buying time, they had lost it, along with soldiers they couldn’t afford to lose.

And Jeremy…

“Thank you, Gavin,” he said abruptly, cutting him off. “Go assist Michael. Tell Trevor to take stock of the rest of our army and report back to me.”

The man nodded tearfully. Then his eyes darted upwards, to the crown on his head that he still had not had time to repair. 

“Yes, your highness.”

Ryan’s throat tightened at the address, but he didn’t say anything as Gavin fled the chamber. Jack spoke up from where he’d been lurking behind the throne.

“We don’t have the numbers,” he said grimly. “I’ve already spoken to Trevor. I’ve been churning out weapons like you asked but at this point they’re just gathering dust.”

“Keep working.”

“But Ryan-”

“ _Keep. Working._ ”

Jack bristled, and Ryan waited for him to argue back, to tell him how stupid he was being. 

“Of course, King Haywood,” he bit out, and Ryan’s heart fell. “Right away.”

He left the king to his solitude, while pain splintered through Ryan’s chest.

 

 

There was no other choice. They were all right, of course- they didn’t have the numbers. No matter how he looked at it, it was obvious that their kingdom would be overwhelmed from all sides, and they might have the weaponry but certainly not the soldiers to wield it.

So they needed more bodies. The thing was though...they _had_ bodies. A surplus of them, in fact. More bodies than they knew what to do with. Each soldier that fell became another added to the pile, another weight on his shoulders. Another crack in his facade.

There was no other choice, he told himself again. Geoff had made him ruler so that he could make the difficult decisions. Well, this one was easy, because there was literally nothing else to be done. It was this or death. And Ryan had had more than enough of that.

Each stride sent lancing pain up from his ankles. Ryan ignored it, holding his lantern aloft as he made his way down to the infirmary in the dead of night. Although by this point it had become more of a morgue. There was nobody alive left to tend to, and all of the healers had left, save for one.

“Ryan?” said the young man as he sleepily lifted his head from his desk. Then he startled, shoving himself upright. “I mean- y-your majesty-!”

“Go home, Fredo,” Ryan said, and his tone must have been dark because the healer's face immediately went slack with fear. He forced himself to speak gentler. “Get some proper rest. You can’t help these people anymore.”

“I know, my liege, it’s just…” Alfredo rubbed the back of his neck gingerly. “I didn’t want them to be alone. I know it’s silly.”

“It’s alright. I’ll take it from here.”

Alfredo shot him some very concerned looks on his way out. Ryan stayed still and silent until he’d left. Then he took a breath, and set his lantern down on the empty desk. Before him lay a sea of cots, all filled with what was left of his soldiers. At some point they had run out of beds and men were piled on the floor in as respectful positions as they could manage.

They’d all died so savagely. At least now they were at peace.

But they couldn’t stay that way.

Ryan exhaled shakily and raised his arms. He began the incantation, words echoing throughout the chamber. The air turned static, crackling with energy that rose the hair on his skin. All of a sudden he gasped, like he’d been electrocuted, only to slowly lower his hands and stare at them.

Thin, painful cracks spiderwebbed from beneath his clothes up his wrists. Places where the skin split open to reveal gleaming obsidian tracks beneath. He curled his fingers and flinched at the pain. All at once he became very aware of the similar aching that led up across his back and legs. 

Around the room, bodies began shifting.

 

 

People screamed as rotting corpses took to the streets. They raided the armoury first, gathering the abandoned swords and shields. Ryan stood on the balcony and watched, gripping the stones with glove covered hands. 

The door slammed open behind him.

“King Haywood! The hoard, they’re attacking, they’re-!”

“Calm down Trevor,” he said without turning. “They’re not zombies. They’re fallen.”

“What...but I-”

“Tell the men not to attack. They’re on our side. If the people are scared they can wait in their homes, I’ll send this fleet to the outskirts of the city immediately.”

“Your highness-”

“What, Trevor?” he demanded, finally turning. The moment he did however, his captain fell silent, blanching. Thin lips pressed together to keep from trembling. Ryan frowned at him.

“Spit it out, man!”

“You…” Trevor swallowed hard. “You’ve been using magic, then? That’s how you brought them back?”

“Obviously. You’ve seen magic before haven’t you?”

“Of course my liege.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?” he snapped. His patience was wearing thin, and his eye had started itching. Ryan rubbed at it irritably.

Trevor stayed silent until Ryan glared at him.

“No reason, your highness,” he said quietly. 

“Then get back to your post,” Ryan ordered, and the captain immediately bowed and hurried away.

Jaw clenching, the king turned back to survey his army of undead as they marched towards the city gates. He rubbed at his eye, but found no relief.

 

 

The city gates buckled under the barrage of an entire army. The western wall crumbled as creepers and giant spiders came skittering into the town square. First the undead soldiers fell beneath the onslaught, then the live ones.

Ryan watched Jeremy die, for the second time. Michael and Trevor followed soon after. Alfredo tried to run to the latter’s aid and was run through with a sword before he could reach his brother.

Ryan looked away after that.

He stormed into his room and grabbed up his sword. These were his people God damn it. He was not going to stand by and watch them die. Not after he failed to protect them. 

His joints cracked and split as he wielded the sword, but he gritted his teeth against the pain. With his gloves shed and cloak discarded the cracks of obsidian stood out starkly against his pale skin. It was like the night sky was trying to escape from within. It was _agonising._

Ryan hissed at the lancing pain that shot through him when he walked. He headed to join the fight. Before he reached the doors, however, he caught a glimpse of a slim figure out of the corner of his eye. He spun, just as Gavin leapt out of the shadows and barrelled into him.

Ryan swore and dodged to the side. The move was far less smooth than if he’d been well, and he staggered. Gavin, pale and sweating, lunged at him, hands scrabbling for the crown on his head.

“Gavin, what are you doing!” Ryan demanded, holding him firmly back. He had to close one eye briefly against the pain in his skull. Gavin visibly flinched. But he stood his ground.

“You’ve ruined us, Ryan!” he said fervently. “You don’t deserve the bloody crown. You’ve killed us, and I’m gonna take the throne and save whoever’s left.”

“What- Gavin, what the hell do you think that will help?”

“They’ll listen to me if I have the crown!” he insisted, blinking against tears. “I can convince them to flee the kingdom. We should have done it ages ago but you were being a prick! We’ll go live in the mountains and leave the bastards to fight it out over this rotting kingdom.”

He thrashed against Ryan’s grip. The king shoved him away, reeling from the vicious words being hurled at him.

“Gavin, that’s lunacy. The mountains are even more dangerous than our home, don’t you think I _thought_ of that?”

“You’re a liar! Look at you Ryan! You’re a monster! You’re bloody leaking magic and raising the dead! Geoff wouldn’t have wanted a madman like you on the throne!”

Ryan stiffened.

Gavin reached to his hip and pulled out a knife. The light glinted wickedly off its blade. Outside they could still hear the sounds of fighting, but it seemed muted compared to the sudden tension in this corridor. Ryan lifted one hand peacefully. The other tightened around the hilt of his sword.

“Gavin, think for a moment.”

“You’re a disgrace to his memory,” Gavin said bitterly, and then lunged forward, dagger slashing down.

Ryan turned up his sword and drove the point of it through his chest. Gavin slumped, gurgling, and Ryan took his weight even as blood poured down to soak his hands.

Ryan wrapped his free arm around him, staring past Gavin at the wall. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, heart breaking. “But I have to do this.”

Gavin went slack, head lolling like a rag doll. Feeling cold inside, Ryan let him slip off the end of his blade and slump to the ground. His eyes were open, but lifeless, frozen in an expression of shock and fear.

The sight broke something in Ryan. An agonising pain struck through his body, all the way down to his toes. He felt like a piece of marble that was being chipped away at by a sculptor. In fact he could hear the sounds of cracking and splitting. He looked down at his hands. The black fault lines on his arms doubled, growing wider, completely taking over his pale skin until it was hardly visible.

A glint of light turned his attention to the flat of his blade. In its reflection he saw his face. But it no longer looked like him, split apart as it was. An enormous, jagged crack of black ran right through his left eye, and smaller veins were working their way inward from his jaw and hairline. 

He watched in horror, heart clenching with pain and fear as his skin continued to crack and tear. 

The door flew open behind him. Jack bellowed his name. Ryan turned slowly, feeling his crown break in two and fall from his head. Felt the sword tumble from his splintering hands. Jack ran towards him, faltering when he saw Gavin’s fallen body. 

Ryan reached out to his friend. Saw the horror in his eyes. 

Then he felt himself come apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I was hanging out to write weird fantasy horrors :P Feel free to comment!


	6. Unlucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and the terrible, no good, very bad day.

Ryan leaned against the wall, surveying the street. Few people noticed him, and those that did spot him lurking in the alley immediately averted their gazes and hurried on. He didn’t know if it was his body language or the face paint that scared them off.

A young man met his eye and immediately went white as a sheet.

Okay, maybe he did know.

“You in position, Daddycock?” Geoff said through his comms.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that name.”

“Too late, no take backs. You ready?”

“Yup,” he answered, glancing sideways at the sound of stray cats growling at each other further down the alley. “I’ll cause a ruckus and bail once the cops arrive.”

“No blowing shit up. We need a police distraction, not for them to call the military in on us.”

“Yeah yeah,” he waved off. “I’ll just rob the place. I won’t even kill anyone! Unless I feel like it.”

“If you end your murder break before Sunday you lose the bet and I’m not paying you,” Geoff warned. 

“Bitch.”

“Daddycock.”

“I really hate you, you know that?” 

His boss sniggered, and Ryan grimaced at the kissy noise that almost popped his eardrum. 

“Love you too, be safe now you hear?”

“Moving out, I’ll signal you when I’m ready,” Ryan sighed, pushing himself upright. Geoff got out a few extra chuckles before shutting off the comms. 

He took stock, noting where his gun and ammo were stowed beneath his jacket. Everything was ready to go. It was a simple task, so simple he could do it alone. All he needed to do was cause a brief distraction to draw police attention, so the rest of his crew could heist a bigger target downtown without worrying about being caught. It was nothing he hadn’t done before.

With one last check of the time, Ryan stepped out onto the street-

-and immediately collided with someone.

“Oh, shit, sorry!”

A hand grabbed his arm and kept him upright. The nails were painted black, with little Halloween-themed detailing. Thrown off balance in more ways than one, Ryan stepped away from the grip and rounded on the person who had barged into him. It was a cheery, round-faced woman with a pleasant smile and a uniform on. The tag on her vest read ‘Lindsay.’

“You came out of nowhere!” she said, and to Ryan’s dismay she began dusting him off. If she thought anything strange about his skull paint, it didn’t show on her face. “You should be more careful!”

He pulled a face. “ _You_ ran into me.”

“Uh, I was just walking dude. You’re the one leaping out of alleys like some creep. You’re lucky I didn’t knock you out, I have a taser you know.”

“Just lucky,” he muttered, as if he wouldn’t have shot her if she tried. Then he glanced at his watch, remembering he had somewhere to be. Without another word he turned his back on her and headed down the street.

A second later she fell into step beside him. Ryan kept walking, studiously avoiding looking her way in the hopes that she wouldn’t try to talk to him.

“Hey, we’re going the same way! That’s fortunate, we can walk together. I think it might be fate that we bumped into each other, you and I.”

Ryan walked a little faster. 

“What’s your name?” He didn’t answer. “Nice! I like your ponytail, very sleek. It’s like a cat's tail. Do you like cats?”

“I’m more of a dog person,” he said, finally deciding to play along in the hopes of appeasing her.

“Really? That’s funny. I really had you picked as a pussy-lover.”

Ryan stopped in his tracks and stared at her. She grinned at him, totally innocent. 

Over his comms, Geoff chimed in. “Are you ready to go?”

“I can’t talk right now,” Ryan answered both of them. “I’m busy.”

“Prick,” Geoff muttered, as Lindsay lifted her hands.

“Sure, okay, we can walk in silence. You do your thing man, I don’t want to bother you.”

“Thank you,” he said shortly. He started walking again. Lindsay kept pace with him.

Ryan could feel a headache coming on.

They made it one block before she started chattering again, and this time Ryan studiously ignored her. People shot them odd looks as they passed. They looked just as shocked to see the Vagabond as they were to see him with a strange woman. Ryan sincerely hoped this didn’t start up a rumour. He still hadn’t lived down the headlines that falsely proclaimed he and Geoff were a couple. 

He kept waiting for her to turn off down a street, but she didn’t. His dread only grew as they approached the corner store that was to be his target. A bell chimed when he opened the door, and when he paused to check if he was still being followed the woman slipped past him with a smile.

“Thanks, what a gentleman!”

Ryan gaped from the doorway, looking her up and down. Suddenly the uniform made sense.

“You work here?” he said dumbly. She beamed at him.

“Yeah. You need something?”

“...no, uh. No, I’m good.”

“Okay,” she drew out, shaking her head at him in amusement. “Sing out if you need anything!”

“Will do,” he said, tone weak. 

He stepped into the store and immediately took a hard left, keeping his head turned away from the cameras. This was not ideal, to say the least. Sure he had his face covered, and he hadn’t told her his name, but she had still walked with him several blocks. If she had to describe him to the police later she’d have more to go on than just a panicked smash and grab. 

Although...she didn’t seem all that astute. 

If she hadn’t noticed his discomfort, then she probably missed a lot of other details too. It was a bit of a mess, but the crew were all in position waiting for him, and Ryan felt a bit foolish calling the whole thing off just because one woman had him flustered. 

He could always shoot her, if it came to that.

Decision settled, Ryan pulled a Diet Coke from a fridge and tapped his comms with his other hand.

“Get ready to move,” he murmured. 

Geoff’s voice crackled in his ear. “Sorry, who said that?”

He pinched his lips together and looked up at the ceiling, biting down irritation.

“This is Daddycock, and I’m ready to move.”

“Copy that,” Geoff sniggered, and Ryan could hear laughter in the distance. 

“You better hope I die during this,” Ryan told him bitterly, before muting his mic. 

He headed to the front of the store. Lindsay perked up when he approached and set the can on the desk.

“Just this one?” she asked cheerily.

“Just that,” he confirmed. “Plus whatever’s in the register.”

She looked up, head cocked in confusion, as he pointed a gun in her face.

“Take your time,” he told her. “I’m in no rush.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yep.”

“Oh, hell.”

“That’s me. Nice and easy now, just use one of your regular bags.” He watched her open the register and start dumping its contents into a plastic bag. She awkwardly bumped something beneath the desk. Ryan let her do it, knowing that it had likely been an alarm and that the cops would be here soon. Exactly what he wanted.

“This is pretty rude of you,” Lindsay said, finishing up and setting the bag on the counter. “I thought we were friends.”

“You’ve known me for five minutes. Get out from behind the counter.”

“Yeah, but they were special minutes. I felt a connection.” She kept her hands up as she rounded the desk, and he grabbed her, leaving the money on the counter. His gun pressed against her back and she stiffened.

“Well, that’s your problem. Walk to the window.” 

He wanted people to be able to see that he had a hostage. It might speed this process up a bit. Already he could hear sirens in the distance. His comms crackled briefly, Geoff informing him that the operation was going smoothly and to hold tight. 

“You know,” Lindsay said, some of the positivity gone out of her tone now, “I thought it was a lucky coincidence that we met today. And I think that you would still make a good friend and companion. But I’m starting to think it was not very lucky at all. I think you’re a very, very unlucky person.”

“Whatever you say.” He kept an eye out of the windows, gun firmly pointed at her. Every now and then he would glance at his watch. It was easy to lose track of time on jobs like this. Seconds could drag by in all the adrenalin and there was always a dangerous temptation to rush things.

“You’re a bad omen, Ryan Haywood,” she said, tone darker.

He stiffened. Finally dragged his eyes away from the window to look at her.

“How do you know my name?”

“There’s something about you that’s awfully _familiar,_ ” she said, smiling to herself. Ryan gripped her tighter.

“I’ve never seen you before in my life.” He would have definitely remembered. 

“No. But we’ll have fun together I’m sure.”

Ryan flipped her around and shoved her up against the counter, forcing her to lean backwards while he loomed. To his surprise, there was not a shred of fear in her eyes. An odd-looking charm swung from a chain around her neck. 

“I don’t know how you know me-” 

“I don’t,” she shrugged. He pinned her harder.

“-But if you don’t shut up I’m gonna put a bullet in you. Possibly many bullets.”

At that moment a shot fired, shattering the window and hitting the light above them. Ryan flinched, grip faltering as glass rained down on him.

“Oh my,” said Lindsay, “That’s unlucky.”

And then she kicked him between the legs as hard as she could.

He buckled, pain absolutely blinding him as he clutched at his groin. His gun clattered against the tiles somewhere to his left. Ryan breathed deeply through his nose, blinking away stars. By the time his vision cleared he felt something press to his neck before electricity was sent shooting through his body. He spasmed against the floor. Blood flooded his mouth from his bitten tongue, all of his muscles locking up.

Lindsay pulled the taser away.

“Naughty Vagabond,” she tutted. “Run along now, kitty.”

Ryan blearily heard the shouts of police surrounding the store. Lindsay had stepped back to give him space, and with a groan he painfully pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Then he shoved to his feet and immediately staggered sideways into a stack of candy bars. The whole thing went tumbling down. He tripped over it, stubbing his toe hard enough to make him yelp.

The yelling grew closer. Ryan didn’t have a gun, so he half-stumbled, half-ran towards the back door that he had scoped out earlier. He got there and tried to open it, only to find the handle jammed. Still seething in agony, he took a step back and barged the door, losing his balance when it swung open.

He tumbled out into the street behind the store. Immediately he started retracing the steps he’d practiced, ducking down a side alley- only to find it blocked by a garbage truck. 

No matter, he turned and scaled the fence next to him, just needing to get as far out of sight as possible before the cops came after him.

His jacket tore on a jagged wire. He cursed, feeling something tumble out of his pocket but not taking the time to check it as he hauled himself gingerly over the top of the fence and immediately slipped. An inelegant cry escaped him as he landed heavily on the pavement below. Pain shot up from his groin on impact.

He laid there for a moment and whimpered.

“Geoff,” he groaned, reaching up to tap his comms. His ear was empty. It must have fallen out when Lindsay beat the shit out of him. There was no calling for back up. At least he knew for sure he’d kept his end of the plan, if the sirens splitting his head open were any indication.

Sweating hard, Ryan picked himself up and hurried as fast as he was able, taking as many back alleys as possible. He bumped into a trash can. His pants were sodden with some liquid that smelled foul, and his boots were soaked from where he’d accidentally stepped into a puddle.

When he reached the place where he’d stashed his bike, the alleyway was empty. For a second he was almost relieved that he didn’t have to sit on it with the way he was still throbbing between his legs.

But still- “Fuck!” he cried, tearing at his hair. 

The band holding his ponytail snapped. He bit his lip and silently raged, throwing a fit right then and there. When he was done shaking his fists and kicking the air, he looked up to see a police officer at the end of the street. Just staring at him in shock.

“Fuck,” Ryan said again. Then he bolted.

He heard the cop yell and start speaking into his walkie talkie. Ryan slipped on trash and crashed into a wall, cheek cracking against brick. Dazed, he pushed onward, blinking away stars. The sirens were following him now. He had lost track of where he was but he just needed to get away.

They practically herded him. He wound up at the river, taking a second to lean against a railing to catch his breath. The moment he straightened something small and furry darted between his legs. Ryan leapt backwards in surprise, ass hitting the railing before he tumbled over it.

The water hit him like a slap in the face. It was _freezing._

He immediately burst out, gasping from the cold. What followed was a miserable process of dragging himself out of the river. His boots kept slipping in the mud, and by the time he reached the road he was covered in slime and soggy as a wet towel. Unthinkingly, he reached up to swipe the water from his face. 

His hands came away stained white. Ryan froze. His already high tension soared to record levels. If the police caught him now, they would see his face. He’d lost his phone and wallet so he couldn’t call a cab even if they did let him in. Didn’t have his gun to steal a car. At least he had...

Ryan reached for his boot, where he kept his favourite blade stashed. His fingers found nothing.

Where the _fuck_ was his lucky knife?!

Before he could even come to terms with this loss a spotlight shone on him. The whir of a chopper broke him out of his shock. Ryan didn’t look towards the helicopter, too afraid they’d get his face on camera. Instead he ran for the buildings across the street. He had no other plan except a desperation to find cover. 

If he could just find somewhere to hide for a few minutes, the crew would likely notice something was up and come get him. They were probably already on their way. He just needed to hold tight. 

Instinctively he steered clear of people, choosing instead to take shelter in a construction site. It was hard to tell if they were building the place up or tearing it down, but the general destruction and half-formed infrastructure made it a prime hiding spot. Overhead the chopper continued to track him with its light. He dove for cover, banging his shin as he did so. 

God, he was ready for this day to end.

He hid like the fugitive he was. In some places he crawled, dragging his sopping wet body through dirt and debris just to stay out of sight. Cars were arriving, he could hear them in the distance. He’d shaken the helicopter for now. But he wasn’t nearly in the clear.

So he hid. He darted between cover and climbed a random set of stairs that he found. Maybe if he could get to the top floor he could escape out onto the rooftops. The helicopter would still be a problem but at least he’d be out of range of the police for a bit. He could improvise from there.

A car screeched to a halt outside and Ryan heard voices yelling as cops flooded the construction site. Gritting his teeth he picked up the pace. The floor crumbled in places and he was hit with a horrible realisation that this place was in a terrible state of disrepair. No wonder it was under construction. 

But he didn’t have time to tread carefully. Ryan bit his lip and ran, trusting fate to catch him like it always had. Before today anyway. He could hear people heading up the stairs after him. So when he reached a gap in the floor, Ryan didn’t hesitate. He sprinted and leapt, arms outstretched.

His fingers caught the ledge of a crumbling wall. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. It was the first thing to go right today, and he closed his eyes briefly, overcome by relief. 

Then the ledge gave way.

Ryan didn’t even have time to cry out. He plummeted to the floor below, building crumbling around him. The impact was enough to knock the wind out of him, along with most of his senses. Something heavy landed on top of him and his vision went dark.

It couldn’t have been long before he opened his eyes again. He could still hear police moving around. They talked, and it was clear that they were looking for him. Ryan twitched and found he couldn’t move. There was a heavy weight pressing down on him, debris that had trapped his legs and torso. He could only see because of the cracks that allowed light to filter in. The next breath he took filled his lungs with settling dust. He fought not to cough and give his position away.

Although, maybe he should want that. At the very least they would pull him out of the rubble. He would end up in custody, but it wouldn’t be the first time one of them had.

He opened his mouth to call to them, but remembered that his face was uncovered and bit his tongue instead. The sound of footsteps approached where he was trapped. Ryan held his breath.

Any second now, and it would all be over. He didn’t have enough energy to hope for a better outcome after the day he’d had. Ryan braced himself.

“He must have gone across the rooftops,” their leader called out. “Get back in your cars and try and head him off!”

Ryan could hardly believe it when he heard the sounds of people heading away. Car doors slammed and the sirens started up again. The noise grew distant as they left. 

He let his head drop. At last, he had a moment to gather himself. Every inch of his body was utterly exhausted. He winced at the parts of him that were still aching, knowing that there would be many more sore spots tomorrow. Hell, he expected that his ribs especially would protest to this rubble being lifted off of him.

Which presented his next problem. There was no way his crew would find him here, now that the police had gone. He couldn’t contact them. If he couldn’t escape himself, he would be trapped here until workers found him, or he died. Neither option was ideal.

Ryan began to struggle. The debris shifted, pressing down on him harder. He gasped as the air was pressed out of his lungs. Dust swirled down his throat and this time he did cough. He could wriggle his shoulders, but his legs were wedged, and one of his hands was pinned. Ryan was stuck fast. 

“Help,” he muttered, too tired to yell it. He gave one last attempt before falling slack, breathing hard. Maybe he would just rest for a bit…

 

“Here, kitty kitty. Where are you pussy cat?”

Ryan slowly came to. There was a voice calling from nearby. He blinked in the darkness, only half conscious as he listened.

“Here kitty! Come on out!”

Ryan wriggled. His body tingled, probably from being crushed for so long. As he pushed, he found he had more room and was able to turn over in the space provided. There was a gap in the rubble. He tried to push his head through, hoping to at least get a gasp of fresh air.

His face tickled as his head poked out. His shoulders followed behind, easily slipping through the gap. Ryan clawed at the debris, nails scratching as he kicked his way out into open air. There he tumbled down onto the dirt. His nose twitched as someone bent over him.

“There you are,” Lindsay said, smiling down at him. Her eyes glittered.

“Poor kitten. You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

Ryan stared up at her in dismay. She had traded her uniform for a simple black dress with pumpkins printed on it. A pointed hat sat at a jaunty angle on her hair. The witch reached down and patted his head fondly.

“That will teach you for being rude, won’t it?” she chided. “But it’s okay. I needed a new familiar anyway. My last familiar got hit by a car. But don’t worry- black cats being unlucky is just a myth! You’ll be fine.”

Ryan was _not_ fine.

She grinned crookedly. “And you said you were a dog person.”

Ryan meowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie- this one was fun


	7. Shriek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a deviation from the norm, but hopefully still amusing!  
> This is basically how I imagine Mad King Ryan would recruit his cult of followers, if he had about 80% more flair (a.k.a Disney style)

_Shriek now darling feel it in your soul..._

 

You tried your hand at this before and didn’t like the taste  
But now there’s something sharp in you that just can’t go to waste 

There’s a hunger burning up inside you’re desperate to sate,  
But blood is better savoured and a heart is worth the wait

 

So shriek darling, let me feel it in your soul  
Let the darkness bury deep inside and never let you go  
Oh shriek darling, did you hear them call me mad  
In lunacy you’ll find your sins the best you’ve ever had  
So _shriek!_

 

Did you think you were the only one who ever wanted more?  
Well try and keep your feet now this will rock you to the core

Now count all of the times you ever thought that you were sure  
Then tear them all to shreds they don’t belong here anymore

 

So shriek darling, let me feel it in your soul  
Let the darkness bury deep inside and never let you go  
Oh shriek darling, did you hear them call me mad  
In lunacy you’ll find your sins the best you’ve ever had  
So _shriek!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my impression whenever somebody new is welcomed by the Madhouse- just a whole lot of evil laughter and musical numbers XD


	8. Wither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt Bragg if you're reading this I know you're a cryptid show yourself coward

Ryan had heard stories about The Bragg. He often spotted him lurking, misshapen and miserable at street corners. Ryan would pass him sometimes on his way to the town square. Usually, he was in a hurry, and so it was easy to rush past the pathetic looking figure without getting too distracted.

He wasn’t in a hurry today.

Ryan noticed the shambling figure as he stopped to watch some ratty kids chase a ball. The Bragg moved slowly, like any action was painful. Most of his body was covered by rags and a greasy mass of hair. What he could tell was that The Bragg was old, and shrivelled, and barely looked human.

Never give anything to The Bragg, his mother had warned him once. She’d never explained why, but as he grew up Ryan assumed it was the same reason she told him not to give to any of the other poor souls without a roof over their heads. She felt they were lazy, or greedy, and didn’t deserve the wasted kindness.

Ryan disagreed. He felt sympathetic towards The Bragg and others like him. Who knew if one day Ryan might end up in a similar situation, and then he’d be hoping for somebody to lend him some help.

So where usually he would hurry by, awkwardly avoiding eye contact, today Ryan approached The Bragg. The closer he got the more he seemed just like another withered old man, slouching against the cracked bricks. His skin was sallow. His hair was like a clump of seaweed that reached his shoulders. He didn’t lift his head until Ryan dropped a few coins into his hat. Then he blinked clouded eyes at him, as if struggling to see.

“Good day, sir,” Ryan greeted him politely. Now that he was closer, there was something a little unnerving about the old man. But this nervousness was quickly overtaken by guilt and sympathy. 

“Are you giving me these coins?” The Bragg asked, voice rasping.

Ryan fidgeted. “Yes. Sir. They are my gift to you.”

Very, very slowly, The Bragg smiled. His teeth were stained yellow, but his half-blind eyes glittered.

“Then give me your hand,” he said, “And I will return the favour.”

Ryan blinked. Then he quickly stuck his hand out, helping the old man to his feet. The Bragg carefully bent over to take the coins and stow them away somewhere beneath his rags. He began to shuffle off, motioning for Ryan to follow him. Ryan hesitated, but didn’t want to be rude.

The Bragg led him through the town and then out of it. His slow shamble was easy enough to keep pace with, but Ryan lagged slightly behind anyway. Now and then he would glance back towards the buildings as they grew further and further away.

“Where are we going, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?” he ventured cautiously.

That earned him a scoff. “ _Sir._ Nobody has ever called me that before. Son, The Bragg doesn’t accept favours, or force gifts. He only deals in trade. You have given me something and you shall have something in return.”

Ryan glanced back one more time, longing to turn and abandon this whole venture. But at The Bragg’s quirked eyebrow he sighed and followed. He felt a little like a cow being led along. 

The undergrowth grew wild as they travelled. Soon the town was hidden by trees and shrubbery. Still The Bragg forged on, leading him until they found the entrance to what appeared to be a mineshaft. One of the support beams had given way and fallen across the entrance, blocking the tunnel off.

The Bragg sighed, rather dramatically.

“This is where I keep my things,” he explained to Ryan. “But I am too old and fragile to lift it. Come, give me your strength.”

It took some doing. By the end of it Ryan was puffing and sweating. But he braced his shoulder against the beam and heaved, shaking away the dust that fell in his hair. Bit by bit the pillar shifted until he was able to prop it up against the ceiling where it belonged.

He stepped back, wiping his brow. The Bragg looked pleased.

He patted Ryan’s shoulder. “After you.”

The mine was dark and grimy. There was a lantern by the entrance which The Bragg lit, holding it in one gnarled hand. The swinging light cast disturbing shadows across rail tracks. A swarm of bats awoke and flew screeching over their heads. Ryan flinched and ducked. His companion merely chuckled.

They didn’t go very deep, it seemed. Ryan felt like the filtering daylight had just gone out of view when they turned into a large cavern. The Bragg dug around in the darkness, searching for something. 

While he waited, Ryan investigated the opposite side of the cave. It was darker here without the lamp but he was cautious. Which was fortunate, because when he heard the sound of crumbling rock he stopped immediately and realised he was seconds away from falling into a pitch black pit. It was impossible to see how far down it went. Shuddering, Ryan leaned back.

“For your coin, I give you my coin,” said The Bragg from behind him.

Ryan turned in time to notice a metallic ring and a glint of light as something shiny was flipped towards him. He startled but reached up to catch it.

His fingers closed around metal just as his heel slipped on the edge. 

Ryan dropped, one hand tightening reflexively around the coin while the other scrambled to get a hold of the ledge. He did, barely, but his grip was flimsy. Already he could feel his fingers slipping. The emptiness of the pit yawned wide and threatening beneath him. In his mind’s eye he pictured deadly spikes, or a mile long drop, and almost passed out from fear.

Cold, wrinkled fingers fastened around his wrist.

“For your hand, I give you my hand,” The Bragg said, and reached out to him. Ryan sucked in a breath and flung his free hand up, still holding the coin. The Bragg grabbed him and began the slow, arduous process of heaving him back up over the ledge. Ryan’s feet scrabbled against the wall in an attempt to assist the old man in pulling him up.

Not nearly soon enough he was back on solid ground. He found himself laughing hysterically as the terror left his system. 

“Would you have let me die if I hadn’t helped you up before?” he asked. 

“I told you, I don’t do favours.” But The Bragg’s tone seemed amused, so Ryan didn’t take it to heart. The old man groaned good-naturedly.

“Ah, but I am far too ancient to be lifting grown men like yourself. I need some of your youth.”

“You can have it, just for that. Fat lot of good youth did me,” Ryan snorted.

The Bragg smiled. 

“So,” he said, after allowing Ryan a chance to catch his breath. “You have your coin. I expect you want to head home now.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Ryan. He sat up and looked down at the coin in his hand. It was large and gold, glinting in the light of the lantern. Running a thumb across its surface revealed it to be almost unnaturally smooth. 

“What is this?”

“One of the secret treasures of The Bragg,” he was told. “Passed on through countless iterations. It holds immense power- do not lose it.”

Ryan was speechless, staring down at the strange coin as he turned it over in his hands. His fingers tingled just touching it. Something deep in his chest tugged unsettlingly.

He couldn’t stop fiddling with it on his way out. This time he let The Bragg take the lead, careful not to fall into any more traps. The coin stayed in his pocket, but he flipped it over and over in his hands until they finally stepped out into fresh air.

The sun was going down. A chill swept the clearing, making Ryan shiver.

“I should be getting back,” he said, wanting to head home before it became too dark. “Have a good day, Mr...sir.”

The Bragg had brought a tall staff back with him from the cave, and now he leaned on it, amused. 

“Ha. After all this time we still don’t know what to call each other,” he laughed. “Can I have your name?”

And, unthinkingly, Ryan gave it to him.

“Ryan Haywood.”

The Bragg hung his head. His body shook with silent laughter. 

“Boy,” he said, “You really are a damned fool.”

Frowning, Ryan felt some deep instinct tugging at him to flee. He took a step back, away from the man and his cane. 

“It was nice meeting you,” he said hastily. “Thank you for your gift.”

He turned and quickly walked away, fighting down the urge to run as fast as he could. A weathered voice called after him.

“I don’t give gifts, _Ryan Haywood._ ”

And Ryan...stopped. Not by his own doing, not by choice. It felt as if his feet had been nailed to the ground. He was frozen, stiff as a statue and twice as cold, as The Bragg slowly shuffled around to stand before him. His entire demeanour had changed from a wizened old man to something much darker.

“And you still have debts to settle,” he finished, eyes glittering in the growing shadows of the clearing.

The wind picked up, seeming to wrap Ryan up in its embrace. Far from being soothing, it only chilled him further. He could not move or blink. He could not run or scream. He _ached_ to cry, just from the unnaturalness of it all, but could not force the tears.

“ _Ryan Haywood,_ ” The Bragg said again, and Ryan fell to his knees.

“For your strength, I give you my strength.”

The words were like a punch to the chest. Ryan felt like the air had been pushed out of him, along with all of his vitality. He wanted to sag under the sudden feeling of exhaustion that went all the way down to his bones. If he hadn’t been somehow magicked to stay on his knees he might have crumpled to the ground.

“For your age, I give you my age.”

He could feel his life force being stripped from him. His youth leeched out of every pore. Out of the corners of his eyes Ryan could see his skin wither and turn ashy. Wrinkles folded along his hands. His hair lengthened until it flowed down his back. Inside his chest, his heart stuttered, gave a cough and continued to beat unsteadily.

“For your name, I give you my name. You are The Bragg, and this is your curse.”

Ryan screamed at the pain that wracked him, shattering whatever spell was keeping him frozen. His fingers clawed at the dirt, at his clothes and skin and hair. Every inch of his body felt like it was decaying at rapid speed. Just breathing hurt. Finally the agony passed, easing enough that he stopped writhing and instead curled over his knees, breathing hard.

The staff hit the ground next to him. Someone let out a startled laugh.

After a moment, Ryan lifted his head. It was a gargantuan effort, but he forced his eyes up from the ground to see the man before him. 

Where before he had been elderly, now a young man stood. He stared at his hands in delight. His wrinkles were gone, replaced by smooth skin that was a typical pale without the sallowness. His hair was shorter and less untamed, though still raggedy. He kept his shoulders hunched like he wasn’t used to standing upright. Without the crook in his back he looked several feet taller.

The stranger laughed again and looked down at Ryan.

“Thank you,” he said, sounding entirely genuine. “It’s been...so long. I am sorry I had to do this to you, but a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do, am I right?”

Even his voice sounded different, the rasp gone and tone younger. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut briefly and tried to figure out how to breathe when his chest felt like it was caving in on itself.

“Listen, friend, I know it sucks.” There was a hand on his shoulder, the man kneeling in front of him. “I went through it too. You’ll get used to it. And don’t worry- you can change it back. You just need to pass along the curse to someone else. 

“But do it quick, because you can and will die if left too long. The curse of The Bragg is to wither without cause or cure. Keep the coin safe, it’s what gives you the power of trades. And next time, don’t follow creepy old men into dark caves alone, yeah? That’s just, in general, a bad move. Not that I’m complaining.”

He stood, stretching with blatant satisfaction. His hands ran over his face, feeling his scruffy beard and smooth cheeks.

“Oh yeah, this is nice,” he said, pleased. Then he thought for a minute, rolling something around in his mouth. “Matt Haywood...it’ll do. It would be rude of me not to use the name you gave me after all.”

Ryan pressed his forehead to his wrists, tears prickling at the edges of his eyes.

“Take it back,” he wheezed, whispered, wished.

“Sorry, friend. The Bragg doesn’t give or take. Find someone, pass on the curse, and this can all be a bad dream. I believe in you.”

Matt left him on the ground to suffer. He curled up in a ball and wept.

 

The Bragg sat on a street corner, rags pulled tightly around him against the winter chill. His hair was matted and filthy, his blue eyes losing their colour. He kept them closed for now. Tried to sleep even with the sun shining persistently on him. He couldn’t feel its warmth, so why bother acknowledging it. 

A clinking sound made him open his eyes.

Coins glinted in the cup set between his feet. There was a young woman standing before him. He wondered what he must look like, for her to stare at him with equal measures of pity and disgust. 

“Hello,” he said, “May I have your name?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't give your name to weird mystical swamp creatures, kids. And don't follow creepy old men places. So many wise lessons in this part, yay me. :P


	9. Creature

“There he is!” Jeremy exclaimed when Alfredo jogged down the steps towards them. “How long does it take to hang up a lab coat?”

“Look man you gotta be careful with your lab coat. It’s a symbol, you know? You gotta treat it right and it’ll treat you right.” 

Alfredo joined them outside the department where they worked. Michael shook his head at him.

“You’re a whackjob,” he said.

Alfredo grinned. “Whatever man, let’s go already!”

Gavin called out to another man who was just exiting the building behind Alfredo.

“Hey Ryan! You coming for bevs?”

The lads all turned to him expectantly as he headed down the steps. Doctor Haywood was a level above them, both in security clearance and hierarchy. He was often the one coming up with the experiments that Alfredo then had to run tests for. Some people thought he was creepy. Last month there had been a rumour going on that he’d started testing on human subjects.

But for all that, he was pretty unassuming. He never spoke down to the lads and was always friendly, even kind of a dork. Alfredo liked him.

So it was genuinely disappointing when he shook his head at the question.

“Sorry boys. You know I like to turn in early. I’m too old to go out partying with you kids.”

“Okay, grandpa, you’re not that much older,” Michael scoffed. “Quit being a hermit and come hang out. You don’t even have to drink.”

For a moment, Ryan looked wistful. But then he sighed.

“Thanks, but maybe another time. I’ll shout for lunch or something, but at night I need my beauty sleep.”

“Desperately,” Jeremy teased.

Ryan flashed a grin. “See, Jeremy understands. If you guys think I’m a terrible boss now just wait until I pull an all-nighter.”

“Yikes,” Alfredo said. “Don’t let us keep you then baby girl, you go get your beauty rest.”

Doctor Haywood looked bemused. “Baby girl?”

“Aw come on Ryan, we’re all friends here. We can use nicknames like that, right?”

“I guess we can.” He turned and walked away, waving to them over his shoulder. “Later fuckbois.”

They burst out into startled laughter, Gavin wheezing especially hard. After they recovered from their glee, they agreed on which bar to head to and started walking. Alfredo made it a block before he suddenly stopped. His hands patted his pockets.

“Oh shit,” he said, expression slackening. “I don’t have my wallet, or my phone.”

Jeremy squinted at him. “You’re not just trying to get out of paying are you?”

“No Jeremy, I left them in the lab!”

“Dumbass,” Michael snorted. “You’re not supposed to take phones in while they’re doing experiments.”

“Yeah I know, but it was in my jacket and I took it off because it was getting too hot under my lab coat.”

Gavin pointed out, “You know it kinda defeats the purpose of a lab coat if you start stripping mid-experiment, Fredo.”

“Yeah, Gavin, I get it. If security finds my stuff I’m so gonna get fired!” Alfredo clapped his hands over his head in despair. The three lads did not look at all sympathetic, all shaking their heads at him and rolling their eyes.

“So go back and get it, dipshit,” Michael told him. “Come meet us after.”

“You’re not going to come with me?” 

Instead of answering, they started walking away. Alfredo groaned.

“Some friends you are!” he yelled after them, cupping his hands around his mouth. Jeremy flipped him off. 

Disheartened, Alfredo retraced his steps back to the facility, grumbling all the way. When he reached the doors he swiped in with his card. He paused just a second to look back at the sun as it sank towards the horizon. It wasn’t night yet, but it surely would be by the time he came out. Here he was, about to walk into a mostly dark, mostly empty building where he still didn’t know the intentions of most of their work. 

Alfredo stopped to think about it.

Okay. For sure this was life, and not a horror movie, but still. Walking into a scary science facility alone seemed like an obviously bad idea. Now he wasn’t the type of person who could afford to be making stupid decisions like that.

Then again, it was his stupid decision that led to this. And if he didn’t go in, he might lose his job. He _liked_ his job.

Resolving not to fall for any horror trope bullshit, Alfredo took a breath and stepped inside.

 

“Man this place is way creepier after hours,” he muttered as he paced through the hallways. The elevator ride down had been kinda eerie without the typical jingle playing and the shuffling of people crammed in beside him. Now as he walked his footsteps seemed unnaturally loud.

He kept talking to himself. It made him feel better, and the silence started getting to him when he stayed quiet for too long. Weren’t there usually security guards around? Where were they?

Alfredo reached the lab where he and Collins worked. The others rotated positions, but Alfredo was new and had been training under Trevor until he got a handle on things. 

Before entering the room, Alfredo stopped and checked the door. It was built to swing shut automatically behind someone as they entered. Although he had a key card that could in theory open it from any side, Alfredo found himself hesitating. This would be the point where he walked in and the door slammed shut. He’d try to open it and the card reader would be broken. Well, not today, bitch.

Alfredo scanned the room. Then he grabbed a pot plant from the hallway and dragged it to the door. It wedged it open perfectly. The gap was wide enough to slip through, and now Alfredo did so with confidence.

Ah, there was his jacket. He’d left it thrown hazardously over the edge of his chair. Right next to a collection of vials. Thank god nobody had seen it. There were some sensitive experiments in this room and it wouldn’t look good to see him being so careless around them. 

Alfredo crossed the room and reached out. The moment his hand landed on his jacket something shattered behind him.

He froze on reflex. Fingers clutching his jacket, Alfredo stood perfectly still and stared at the wall with bulging eyes. After a minute in which nothing else happened, he very slowly turned his head to look behind him.

A stack of empty vials had been tipped over. Glass shards covered the floor, but at least there hadn’t been anything in them. How had they fallen? A sudden flash of movement caught his eye, something dark slinking out of sight.

Alfredo very determinedly did not look at it. 

After a second, he carefully lifted his jacket and folded it over his left arm. Then he took slow, measured steps towards the door. His eyes stayed facing forward, no matter how hard he was checking the room in his peripherals. Nothing else moved, and he heard no other sound as he stepped over the plant pot.

Once outside he quickly scooched the fern aside and shut the door.

He exhaled in a rush.

Well. That was weird. Nothing to worry about though. Now that he thought about it, maybe someone had just brought in rats to test on, and one had escaped. It hadn’t looked rat-shaped though. Alfredo couldn’t put into words what it _did_ look like, but it certainly hadn’t looked like a rat.

He shook himself. That was none of his business. He had his jacket and it was time to leave.

Alfredo purposefully did _not_ run from the room. But he did hurry. He pressed the button for the elevator perhaps a couple more times than was necessary, unable to shake off the feeling that something was stalking him.

While he waited he heard a creaking sound. He looked left to see a nearby door slowly opening. A dark room lay beyond it. 

Alfredo stared into it. His hands clenched.

“Nope,” he said, tearing his eyes away. “That’s some white people shit, no thank you. Nice try, Satan.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Alfredo glimpsed movement from the darkness of the open door. Quickly he jumped into the elevator and shut the doors behind him. The button for his floor lit up when he pressed it, a very small comfort to soothe his fraying nerves.

“Man I hope somebody left their dog here,” he muttered. The lift rose. Alfredo anxiously watched the floors go by, and when it reached the one before ground level the elevator shuddered. The overhead light flickered alarmingly.

Immediately Alfredo envisioned plummeting down the elevator shaft, or getting stuck between floors with no escape. Before he could get trapped in either situation he slammed the button to stop the lift. Thankfully the doors slid open with ease. Alfredo half leapt between them, skin crawling at the idea of staying in that claustrophobic death trap for a second longer.

A benign ding rang out as the elevator doors closed. It left, heading down.

Was there someone else in the building? Maybe Alfredo could go find them.

“Nah, fuck that,” he brushed off. He was already out, he might as well commit. If anybody was left down here with whatever demon or dog or rat was lurking about, that was their problem. 

Alfredo hadn’t been on this floor very often, so he wasn’t sure where the stairs were. Of course they existed. Even creepy underground labs had fire safety protocols to follow. But he just couldn’t quite orient himself. He found a floor plan hung on the wall and inspected it until he found a route out.

A sound echoed up from the floor below. Somebody, somewhere, was screaming. It was a bloodcurdling sound, and Alfredo jerked. He started spinning around on the spot, completely irrationally. Alfredo couldn't help it, just had the intense urge to check that there was nothing around him. But he was in an empty hallway. He was safe. 

The scream didn’t come again, but he heard a loud clanging that sounded like it was coming from the elevator. Instead of investigating Alfredo took off at a brisk pace towards the exit. He got lost more than once in his panic. Every now and then he would take a wrong turn and need to double back. But eventually, finally, he spotted a glowing exit sign and almost sagged with relief.

The door opened with a horribly loud squeak. Alfredo winced. He tried to close it quietly behind him, but the acoustics of the stairwell made it echo anyway. Shuddering, he quickly started up the stairs. Halfway up the first flight he paused.

There was something moving below him. 

Against his better judgment, Alfredo crouched down. Instead of running, and making even more noise, had sat very still and peered through the railings. The steel was cold against his hands and chin.

There were automatic safety lights lining the stairwell which, while not incredibly bright, still gave off a small glow even while the facility was empty. Something shifted somewhere lower on the stairwell. A shadow fell on the wall.

It was vaguely humanoid. But much, much larger, and the way it moved and was shaped suggested something animalistic about it. The shadow twitched, a glitching silhouette. Each light it passed flickered. Then went out. It left a path of darkness as it ascended the stairs.

Directly below Alfredo, the shadow on the wall paused. 

Then its head turned in his direction.

Alfredo shoved away from the railing and sprinted up the stairs. He took them two at a time. Behind him, he heard something like a snarl and light bulbs shattering as the creature gave chase.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit-"

He reached the landing and barged through the door. It opened so quickly that his heart sang with relief. Then he was running for his life. His shoes slipped on the sleek floors as he rounded a corner. He kept catching slivers of a silhouette on the wall behind him but didn’t dare stop to look. Even without seeing what the shadow belonged to he had no interest in dealing with it.

Alfredo reached the lobby and vaulted over the front desk. Something crashed to the ground behind him. He’d lost his jacket somewhere. Heart beating like a maniac he reached out as he ran to yank things behind him. Whatever was chasing him tore through the chairs and plants that he toppled over without slowing.

There was the exit. Alfredo ran right for it. Shadows leaked into view at the corners of his eyes. He felt something sharp nicking at his back.

The doors slammed open and he tumbled down the steps. Every bump hurt. He curled his arms around his head as best as he could until he hit the sidewalk. Immediately he felt hands grab him and screamed.

“Jesus! Alfredo, calm down, it’s only me!”

Alfredo uncovered his head and realised he was trembling. Doctor Haywood leaned over him, face drawn tight with concern.

“Ryan?” stuttered Alfredo. The other man hauled him up, and the moment he was on his feet Alfredo nearly bolted.

“Wait, Ryan! We have to run, there’s some fucking thing in there-!”

He tried to drag him away but Ryan clamped his hands around his arms, forcing him to stay put.

“Whoah, whoah! Slow down! You look like you’re about to pass out. Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“No-no-!” Alfredo shook like a leaf, clinging to Ryan. “There’s a thing Ryan!”

“A thing?”

“A thing!” he wailed. Ryan tried to turn to look, a difficult task when Alfredo refused to let him move more than an inch away. Finally he managed it. Alfredo clung to his back and peeked over his shoulder.

“I don’t see anything,” Ryan said.

Alfredo stared, but he was right. One of the doors still swung slightly from where he had gone bursting through them. It was now as dark within the facility as it was outside. But there was no movement, and no unnatural, hulking shapes. 

Ryan seemed to notice his bewildered terror. He wrapped an arm around Alfredo’s shoulders and led him away.

“Come on. Deep breaths now. What happened?”

“I thought…” Alfredo took his advice and tried to steady his breathing. His heart still pounded. His skin was crawling with goosebumps. “There was something chasing me.”

“Like an animal?” Ryan looked reasonably worried. “Did something get loose from the labs?”

“I don’t know,” Alfredo admitted. They stood under a streetlight now. He had to admit he felt better in the light, especially with Ryan still rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. His shaking had begun to settle. In fact, he felt a bit silly now, wondering if he had imagined it all.

“I don’t know what I saw,” he said finally.

Ryan peered at him. “Maybe you should head home. A round of shots probably isn’t going to do you any good tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Speaking of which, what are you doing here? I thought you left?”

“I forgot something,” he said simply. “I assume you did too?”

He ducked his head sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“Did you get it back?”

“Yup,” Alfredo lied, having no intentions of going back into that facility even with Ryan to protect him. He’d been lucky to survive whatever bullshit had just happened in the first place. Who cared if he lost his job, at least he’d be _alive._

That was, if he had really seen anything in the first place. Maybe he’d just imagined the shadows. After all, he’d never actually felt or looked directly at whatever he thought was chasing him. The more he thought about it, the more foolish he felt.

He shook his head, laughing a little at himself. His eyes dropped to his feet sheepishly.

And then he noticed something. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Hey Ryan,” he asked, tone nervous, “Where’s your shadow?”

Doctor Haywood went still. His hand, still on Alfredo’s shoulder, suddenly felt incredibly heavy. In the prolonged silence that followed, Alfredo found himself wishing desperately that he’d kept his mouth shut.

He forced a laugh.

“Ha, anyway, I think I should be getting home now Rybread!”

Ryan let his hand drop, expression masked by a polite smile. 

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Have a good night Fredo. Get home safe.”

“You too!” Alfredo returned, a little weakly but still genuine. He gave an awkward little wave. Then he turned on his heel and quickly walked away.

Ryan stood in the lamplight, watching him leave. His hands slipped calmly into his pockets. He waited until Alfredo was long out of view.

Then he whistled.

A dark, hulking shape darted from the darkness. It moved like a streak of black ribbon and wrapped around him like a cloak. He rolled his shoulders as if to settle into its shape. Before long it was completely undetectable to the human eye. Instead, a silhouette joined him beneath the street lamp. Ryan stretched, but the shadow did not. It stared off in Alfredo's direction almost hungrily. Ryan clicked his tongue and turned away, and this time the silhouette mirrored the movement.

Without any further dramatics, Ryan walked his shadow home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when you leave your shadow at work. Smh. This is gonna be on your next performance review Doctor Haywood


	10. Dismembered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the tags before reading

He found him in pieces.

Geoff lay in the street, unable to move or close his eyes. He was forced to stare at his own mangled arm. Blood pooled around him, and he wanted to say that he had long since become numb to the pain. But that wasn’t true. He wanted to scream from how much everything hurt. If somebody came along to light him on fire right then it would have been a welcome distraction.

His arm wasn’t the only thing twisted in the wrong direction. But it was the only part he could see. And if the rest of his body was as wrecked, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Footsteps approached. A stranger leaned over him, frowning at the mess that he was. Clear blue eyes scanned over his still-breathing corpse. Because that’s what he was, Geoff knew. He was dead. His heart just hadn’t figured that out yet. It kept beating persistently, refusing to get with the program, even when all Geoff wanted to do was die.

“My name is Ryan,” said the man, drawing him away from his pain slightly. “I’m going to help you.”

Calloused hands reached down to grab hold of him. 

Geoff _screamed_ and passed out.

 

He came to slowly, and the pain was gone. Geoff felt his thoughts unspooling like a loose thread, hard to keep hold of with the way they kept spinning away from him. Cool metal pressed against his back. He turned his head, slowly, and forced his eyelids open.

His arm was next to him. It wasn’t bent and mangled. It wasn’t even his arm, for all that it was attached to him. The skin of his bare torso transitioned into smooth metal. Lights overhead glinted off the grey steel of his arm, illuminating the wires that were still sticking out in places.

There was a rhythmic beeping somewhere to his right. It grew faster the more he stared at his new arm.

Somebody shifted nearby and a hand landed on his shoulder. His human shoulder.

“Are you awake?” a quiet voice asked.

Geoff dragged his head around to look up at Ryan. His face was smeared with blood and oil. One of his eyes glowed an unnatural blue, the iris whirring and zooming in on Geoff’s face while he stared. The man blinked, and like the flicker of a camera shutter the eye returned to normal.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Geoff,” he whispered. “What’s happening to me?”

“I’m fixing you,” Ryan told him.

Geoff’s eyes rolled back in his head. He heard a command to hold still before he faded away again.

 

He drifted in and out of consciousness. At one point he felt Ryan tinkering on his right leg. The back of his head felt stiff. When he moved, sluggish, drugged movements that got him nowhere, he heard whirring noises and felt wires tugging at him.

“Your heart’s failing,” Ryan said during one of these brief moments of lucidity. Geoff looked over to where he was frowning at a monitor. “All your organs are failing.”

Geoff closed his eyes. “Good.”

 

The drugs were dialled back bit by bit. Geoff couldn’t bring himself to care, especially since he couldn’t feel anything anyway. Was it nerve damage? Or apathy? Surely he hadn’t healed that quickly. There should be pain.

When his thoughts cleared enough to latch onto that fact, Geoff stopped trying to cling to the last lingering effects of his dosage. Instead he shook the fuzziness away and tried, for the first time, to sit up.

He could. The movement was stiff and awkward but without pain. He had to take a moment once upright to wait for his head to stop spinning. The table he was laying on was in the centre of a small, cramped space that looked like a laboratory and a garage had collided. Scalpels sat next to wrenches. Bolts and machine oil were stacked next to bandages. The air smelled of grease, metal and disinfectant.

The bright lights made his head hurt. Geoff swayed slightly and put a hand to his face.

He...didn’t feel it. But he heard the sound of metal clinking. Startled, he pulled his hand back and looked down. His arm was silver. Poreless, without hair or muscle tone. Just rigid metal shaped like a human arm.

Only a third of his torso showed skin. The rest of it was concealed by metal plating, and when Geoff jerked in alarm he felt things _shift_ inside him that hadn’t been there before. He swung mechanical legs off of the table and staggered when they took his weight.

There was a mirror on the wall. Geoff half fell towards it, hearing a mechanical whirl as he moved but refusing to acknowledge it. Something tugged at his hip, and _that_ he felt like a shock running through him as wires were yanked. 

His metal hands hit the wall to stabilise himself as he looked in the mirror.

Geoff barely recognised himself. His brain reeled with denial. Over half of his face was gone, metal plating wrapping around his skull. His human eye had been swapped out for a robotic one. Now that he was paying attention, he realised his vision had an odd hue to it that he’d attributed to the lighting.

His eye flickered. His vision shuddered, glitched, distorting the image in the mirror. The human and robotic features blurred into one horrific amalgamation. It was grotesque. It was inhuman.

He _couldn’t. Feel. Anything._

The mirror shattered beneath his fist. Glass rained down while he jerked backwards, away from the horror that was his own reflection. Geoff stared down at his own metallic hands. They should have shaken with panic. He should have been hyperventilating. His blood should have been pounding through his veins.

Geoff clawed at his chest. His fingers caught a latch and swung the plate open, revealing a net of wires and gears and organs held in place among the machinery. He plunged a hand in carelessly and yanked at the wires. A sharp, immediate shock raced up his spine and zapped the back of his neck. 

Crying out, Geoff reached back and clawed until he was able to wedge his fingers beneath the plating on his skull. He tightened his grip and yanked. The metal strained. Wires snapped. His robotic eye sparked.

Something popped in his head.

 

Ryan found him in pieces.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Geoff was sprawled across the floor. Limbs and wires had become a tangled mess. His chest plate was open, as was the one on the back of his neck. There was a slight smell of burning in the air. Something had definitely fried during whatever freakout had occurred.

Ryan sighed. He closed the panels and picked him up. Geoff slumped, lifeless in his arms until he was laid back on the table. This time Ryan strapped him down. It wouldn’t do for Geoff to continue to try and dismantle himself after all Ryan’s hard work putting him back together.

He reattached a few wires and jumpstarted Geoff’s heart. The man awoke slowly. His human eye was as blank and emotionless as his robotic one. But when he spoke, his tone was laced with grief.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You were broken,” Ryan shrugged. “I’m fixing you.”

Then he called over his shoulder, “Trevor, can you bring in my extra tools from the workshop?” 

“I don’t want to be fixed,” Geoff said, as a different man entered the room. No, not a man- a machine, lanky and humanoid but with lifeless eyes. His smile was fixed to his face like it could not be dropped. Geoff stared at him. If his stomach worked properly it probably would have hit the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Ryan said, grabbing a drill from the android and holding it up. It whirred loudly once switched on.

“I can fix that too.”


	11. Panic

The rain battered Ryan’s face as he skidded across the deck. All around him men were shouting and bailing water. Ropes were heaved, sails were raised. The deck rocked at the whim of the waves. It was nearly impossible to see through the sheets of water dashing against the ship.

He almost slipped, but caught himself on the rigging. A crack of thunder boomed like an unearthly beast set to devour them. The mast groaned in response.

Someone screamed as they went overboard. Ryan almost ran to the railing to try and help them, but the ship tilted sharply and dumped him against the netting. 

“Get that sail up!” Captain Dooley bellowed over the howling storm. All of the sails had been raised save for one. It caught the wind and dragged the ship further and further into the storm. Anyone who could spare their post had dropped everything to heave at the ropes.

“She won’t go Captain!” roared First Mate Jones. “She’s stuck!”

Ryan craned his neck back. The sail whipped and snapped, refusing to be tamed. Somewhere up above there was no doubt a mess of ropes that were preventing the crew from raising it. Unless they got that sail up, they were doomed.

They might be doomed anyway.

Ryan took a breath that was meant to be steadying, but was ruined by the sea spray that immediately filled his mouth. Somebody shoved past him. He ignored them, putting both of his hands on the rigging and starting to climb.

“Two-legs!” the captain shouted his nickname, sounding incredibly unhappy. The wind tore at him, threatening to fling him from the netting. Rain pummelled him from all sides. Every now and then the ship would rock viciously and Ryan would have to cling to the ropes to keep from being thrown off.

His stomach roiled like the waves wreaking havoc on their ship. Even the roar of the storm could not deafen the pounding of his heart. 

Still he climbed, until he reached where the sail was secured. He clung with one arm and drew his knife from his belt, putting the blade between his teeth. There was no opportunity to be delicate. When he inched his way out along the beam, he slipped slightly, and blood filled his mouth from the slice in his cheek. He fought the urge to spit it out. The knife stayed beneath his teeth.

Ryan clung to the beam with his legs, pulling himself forward bit by bit. Below him he could hear shouting. But he didn’t dare look down, terrified of being distracted even for a second. Once he was near enough to the tangle of ropes, he pulled the knife free, and started to saw. The rain blinded him. Warm blood ran down his chin, his mouth flooded with the taste of salt and copper.

He heard something snap. Below him the sail jerked, rigging lashing against the rain. On the deck men cried out as ropes were torn free from their hands. The beam he was on jolted and Ryan clung to it in sudden terror. His knife fell away from him. He didn’t see where it landed.

Then the sky flashed white. A sizzling, static heat struck the mast. There were screams from the crew and a sudden eruption of flames. The entire mast pitched sideways.

Ryan slid, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick wood. The mast jerked to a halt, tangled in ropes, and the abrupt stop shook Ryan free from the beam.

He heard his name shouted just before he hit the water.

 

 

Ryan drifted. Water lapped at his waist, and rocked him like a baby. Even without opening his eyes he could tell he was clinging to some kind of driftwood. Whether wreckage from the ship or just something that got lost overboard, it didn’t matter. He could barely feel it beneath him due to the numbness of the cold.

Oh, he was so, so cold.

His eyelids cracked open, just barely. Every muscle in his body was tensed, both from the urge to shiver and from his precarious position. Half of his body was lying atop a set of boards, clinging instinctively to it. His fingernails had split from digging into the wood so hard.

Forcing his fingers to uncurl was a battle against his mind and body. His brain fought him, panicking at the thought of letting go of what little safety he had. Once he pushed past that, his hands hurt so much to finally release from their clawed positions that he had to cry out from the pain.

Shaking, shivering hands inched their way along the driftwood. He dug his fingers back in, and carefully dragged himself forward. It was an agonising process. His teeth chattered the whole time. Pull, stop, reach his hands out a little further. Pull, stop, repeat. 

Finally he dragged himself fully out of the water and slumped against the wood in relief. Chills still wracked his body, but he felt infinitely better to be no longer submerged. 

Ryan floated for a while. The sun beat down on his back, softer than the rain had been. It warmed him steadily, though he still had patches of water soaking him. He napped for awhile and let his muscles loosen in the sunlight. 

Finally he opened his eyes. Carefully, he sat up and took stock of the situation.

The piece of driftwood he had found and clung to was small. There was a rope trailing along behind it as he drifted slowly on whatever current carried him. All around him in the water was debris. It dotted the horizon in every direction. There was no sign of his ship, or the storm, or his crew.

Ryan thought about yelling, just in case. But his throat felt like it had been shredded, and his lungs had taken a beating. It was a miracle he hadn’t drowned. Although, looking at the desolation surrounding him, it might have just been delaying the inevitable.

And then Ryan spotted it. A definite human shape floating in the water, bumping against barrels and the torn remains of a sail. The lack of hair made it immediately apparent who it was.

“Captain!” Ryan shouted, the sound hoarse and painful. He shoved himself to his feet. The driftwood rocked dangerously as a result of his shifting. “Jeremy!”

He took a running leap and dove into the water without a second thought. Ryan swam towards his captain and looped his arm beneath his chin. Careful to keep him afloat, Ryan began the arduous task of dragging him back to the planks. They drifted away from him.

His heart leapt up into his throat. He faltered, water getting in his mouth and making him splutter. But he kept kicking, and eventually his hand slapped down on wood. Relieved, Ryan heaved his captain up onto the driftwood, hauling himself up after. 

“Jeremy,” he called. He slapped his face a few times. The man’s eyes were closed, head lolling without support. Ryan said his name again, then put his head down to listen to his chest.

He waited. 

For a minute he just sat there, ear against his torso as he strained to hear some flicker of a heartbeat. Then he turned, resting his forehead against the man’s shoulder instead. A weight settled on him. 

Ryan leaned backwards slowly, pushing away to sit in the opposite corner of the driftwood. The raft dipped but Jeremy’s body balanced out his weight. He sat there and stared at his captain. 

He was all alone.

 

Ryan drifted.

He couldn’t bring himself to dump Jeremy’s body. For the most part he just tried to avoid looking at it. The debris was further scattered now, most of it having floated in a different direction to him. The more it dispersed, the more vast the ocean seemed. Soon there was nothing for miles. Still, he drifted, unable to do anything else.

The sun that had seemed so comforting before had now become a curse. Its heat was oppressive. Without any clean water to drink, it pulled the sweat from his skin and left his already salt-scalded lips dry and cracked. His breathing was audible, a painful, almost-whistling sound. 

Ryan sprawled across the driftwood, trying to conserve energy by sleeping. He had stolen some of Jeremy’s clothes to protect his own skin from the sun’s burning influence. Swaddled in rags, he would occasionally dip his hand into the sea to splash water over himself. It didn’t do much to cool him down. But it was better than nothing.

The sky turned around him. Without purpose or supplies, Ryan tried not to pay attention to the way the days passed. It only told him how much closer he was to dying.

At least during the night, it was cooler. That was its own kind of hell, but for the first hour or so it always felt like a relief after the blistering heat of the day. Ryan was curled into a ball, almost too tired to shiver, when he heard someone call his name.

“Ryan…”

He frowned. Turned his head slightly, eyes still closed.

_“Ryan…”_

He bolted upright. 

A few feet away from him, Jeremy was already sitting up. Ryan felt his breath hitch. All the blood drained from his face.

His former captain laughed. He tilted his head, the movement stilted and crunching.

“You’re going to die, Two-legs,” Jeremy rasped. His face was bloated and seawater dripped from him almost rhythmically. A small crab scuttled from his mouth only to tuck itself away in his ear.

Ryan shrank back, freezing when the corpse followed the movement.

“Always said you were mad, Haywood. Look at you. Why did you keep my body, Ryan?”

“You’re not real,” Ryan whispered.

“Were you planning to eat it? Fuck it? Or were you just lonely. Poor, sad, lonely Two-legs.”

Ryan closed his eyes and shook his head fervently.

“Go away.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not here, remember? Your only friend is a deadman, so won’t you open. Your. Eyes…”

Ryan hunched in on himself. The words grew closer, until they were whispered directly into his ear.

_“Take a look at the man you murdered.”_

Ryan’s eyes snapped open and he jerked backwards. He caught a glimpse of sharp, yellowed teeth and a skeletal face before he went tumbling backwards into the water.

The cold hit him like a slap to the face. He gasped reflexively and took in water. All around him was dark. Even the moonlight barely reached him here. He was in empty space, spinning, lost-

Ryan breached the surface spluttering. His arms flailed and he accidentally swallowed water before he finally knocked his elbow against the driftwood. Hyperventilating, he frantically scrabbled at the planks until he was able to clamber back up onto them. Immediately he curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around his legs.

In the opposite corner, Jeremy’s body laid still and undisturbed.

Ryan’s teeth chattered. He buried his chin in his arms and didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. 

 

He lay on his back the next morning, staring up at the sky. Soon it would get too hot and he would need to drag the extra shirt over his face. But for now he just lazed. The raft rose and fell in a gentle, rocking motion. His eyelids drifted closed.

A spray of water hit him in the face. Ryan sat up, spluttering, shooting an anxious glance towards Jeremy as he did so. The body didn’t move. It hadn’t since last night, but he could not shake his anxiety. 

But there. Beyond Jeremy’s corpse, there was a dark speck on the horizon.

Ryan was on his feet in an instant, cursing and screaming. He waved his arms over his head. Jumped even though it made the raft shudder ominously. He looked around, frantic, and then began to tear at the driftwood. 

Some of the planks were weak and he ripped them up. With a roar he continued wrenching pieces of his raft away from the rest just to fling them into the air. Uselessly, irrationally, hoping that someone would see it. They had to see it.

“ _Please_!” he screamed. “I’m _here_! I’m right here!”

It was hard to tell from the distance, but it looked like the ship was sailing away from him. 

“No!” If he wasn’t so dehydrated he surely would have been in tears. His voice tore his throat up on its way out. “Come back!”

He fell to his knees, screaming in despair.

The ship grew smaller on the horizon. Eventually it disappeared entirely, taking the last of Ryan’s hopes with it.

 

There was a shark circling his boat. Ryan didn’t even know when it had showed up, too tired to lift his head. He wasn’t sure if it had been drawn by Jeremy’s blood, or Ryan’s, or just happened upon his raft. Either way, it didn’t concern him too much for the moment.

Then his raft shuddered violently. His heart lurched. Ryan felt his hands shake as he pushed himself to a sitting position. The shark nudged the driftwood again, nibbling at it almost gently. His breath came short as he stared the creature in the eye. It submerged again, an invisible omen.

Ryan fought to get his breathing under control. Shakily, he crawled over to Jeremy and put his hands on his bloated body. It took more effort in his weakened state, and somehow the added weight made it worse. He pushed the body over the edge. It hit the water with a splash.

Within seconds the water churned. Trembling, Ryan rolled over and clapped his hands over his ears. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to hear. Part of him was waiting for the sounds of Jeremy screaming, or the crunching of bones. So he kept his ears covered and shook and shook.

On the horizon, storm clouds gathered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WIIIIILSSOOOOOOOON


	12. Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We need to go deeper...

Ryan gave one last twist of the wrench and stepped away from the machinery. He stood by a porthole to wipe his hands of grease. Their sub was deep enough now that it was like travelling through space. Vast, dark, and floating. Only the lights from their submarine broke the darkness. Well, that and the occasional glowing fish.

He hit the communications panel next to the door.

“Alright Michael, see if that did it.”

The quiet hum of the engine grew louder, their speed increasing almost imperceptibly.

“Oh hell yes, now that’s more like it! Good job Ryan.”

“I diverted some of the power from the defence systems,” Ryan explained, and immediately heard Jack’s voice crackle over his.

“And what are we gonna do if something attacks us, Ryan?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve still got missiles. Worse comes to worse I can always switch it back.”

“Besides,” Jeremy chimed in, “There’s dick out here. We haven’t seen so much as a shark in ages.”

Ryan had to agree. Their mission had lasted weeks now, and they hadn’t seen any sign of danger. It had become monotonous. Letting that power go to waste when it could be used to speed up their progress seemed ridiculous. As fascinating as all this was, Ryan was ready to go home. He knew the others felt the same. Even Jack, despite his grumbling.

Ryan packed up his tools and headed out of the engine room, taking no notice of the dark shape that slipped past the window.

He was halfway to the barracks to put his tools away when the submarine jolted. It let out a horrible sound like they had collided with something. Ryan was thrown against the wall. His toolkit sprang open, scattering bolts everywhere.

“Fuck!” he swore, immediately slamming a button to the comms. “Michael did you run into something again?”

“If I did it’s because I can’t fucking see it, so shut up Ryan!”

“You have a radar for that!”

“There’s nothing on the radar!” Ryan could hear him checking his equipment, seeming bewildered. “We shouldn’t have hit anything.”

There was a garish, echoing sound of something scraping along their submarine. The walls shuddered. For a long, tense moment there was silence over the intercoms as they all waited with bated breath.

Then a screech of metal split the air. It reverberated through the sub, making Ryan clap his hands over his ears in shock. Somewhere back towards the engine room he heard the unmistakable sounds of something tearing their ship apart.

Ryan took off running. Something speared through the wall on his right, almost stabbing right through him. He ducked around it, stumbling in shock. It was almost crab-like and clawed at the air before retreating. The hole it left in the hull immediately began pouring water. Ryan’s heart leapt up into his throat and he ran as fast as he could away from the rising flood.

The tunnel opened up and as it did Ryan heard a second set of footsteps below him. He ran to the railing, almost flinging himself over in his haste. On the floor below he spotted Jack running in the opposite direction.

“Jack!” he yelled, watching the other man screech to a halt. He waved his arms until he spotted him. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m going to fix what you did in the engine room!” Jack hollered back.

“Are you crazy?! We don’t have time for this!”

“Are we just supposed to let our sub get torn to shreds?” Jack gestured furiously.

“The engine room will be flooded by now! We need to get up top and put our suits on in case we end up in the water!”

Jack actually took a step back in horror. “In the water? Ryan, that thing is big enough to attack our sub! We’d be stranded out in the open ocean with it!” 

He was shaking his head now, backing away until he had nowhere else to go. 

“There is _absolutely no way_ , I am _ever_ going out there!”

Teeth shredded through the wall behind him like knives through butter. Jack didn’t even get a chance to scream before they closed around him. Ryan glimpsed only teeth, enormous and jagged, before the thing drew away again, leaving only shrapnel behind. Water immediately poured in through the opening. It quickly began flooding the lower levels.

Too shocked to even begin processing the loss of his friend, Ryan backed away from the railing. Then he continued on at a dead sprint. Their sub was a lost cause now. If the creature attacking them could take chunks out of their hull that size, they had no way to repair it before they got to the surface. Their only chance was to abandon ship. Hopefully the beast would be too preoccupied with their sub to notice them swimming away.

Water spilled out across the floor, making him slip. He raced around a corner and collided with Jeremy running the same direction. They both took a moment to steady the other.

“Where’s Jack?” Jeremy shouted over the cacophony of screeching and clanging and running water. Ryan just shook his head in response, speechless of the horror he had just witnessed.

The sub shunted sideways and they clung to each other for balance. A low roar of rushing water approached them. They both turned their heads in time to see a wave sweep around the corner, heading straight for them.

“Go, go, go!” Jeremy shouted, yanking at him. They ran full tilt away from the flood. It swept their ankles and quickly rose to their knees. Soon they were wading. Ryan reached the ladder first, his longer legs better suited to staying upright. Jeremy struggled in comparison, the water almost up to his chest now. 

Ryan quickly began hauling himself up the ladder. He heard Jeremy climbing behind him. Reaching the top, he climbed out and immediately bent down to check on Jeremy. His friend was gasping, no doubt from the cold. Another wave of water hit him at chin height and almost tore him away from the ladder.

Ryan laid down and reached out to him. Jeremy floundered, one hand wrenched free from the ladder as the current dragged at him. The water was on a warpath. It channelled down the tunnels and threatened to take everything with it. Jeremy fought against its tugging, trying desperately to grab Ryan’s hand.

“Come on Jeremy!” he urged.

Their wet fingers fumbled for a second before Ryan was able to grab him. Jeremy met his eye. 

The ceiling over Ryan crumpled inwards, another lancing talon stabbing through it. Its point jabbed inches away from Ryan. As it scrabbled it slashed against his back. He cried out in pain and rolled away from it, struggling to keep a hold of Jeremy. 

The claw retreated and a flow of water took its place. The stream hit him like a wrecking ball, scooping him away from the ladder against his will. 

Jeremy’s hand slipped free of his. He went tumbling and spinning. For a moment, when the water was shallow enough, he was able to get up on his hands and knees. He shouted for Jeremy. The exit to the ladder was completely out of sight, covered by water. 

Ryan hesitated even as water lapped against him. He waited. Jeremy did not appear.

Heart breaking, Ryan forced himself up and took off. The water chased him.

He got to the control room and slammed the door shut against the wave that followed. Michael had abandoned the helm. Instead he was controlling their guns, blood pouring down the side of his face like he’d taken a knock to the head at some point. The man was seething. He spat blood and fired missiles, all the while cursing up a storm.

Ryan ran to the cabinet where they kept diving suits and began pulling his on. He took one and threw it to Michael. It fell on the controls next to him, completely ignored.

“Michael!” Ryan shouted as he wriggled into his suit. “Get your suit on, we need to try and swim for the surface! Grab the emergency kit!”

“Die you fish bitch!” Michael spat, completely ignoring him. Explosions rocked the sub as he continued to fire wildly at whatever was attacking them. Ryan fumbled with the clasps on his oxygen tank.

“Michael!”

He stumbled towards him. The sub tilted and he fell. His head smacked hard against the floor. Dazed, he looked up at Michael.

A skewer pierced through the ceiling and stabbed Michael through the chest. It pinned him to the control panel. Blood sprayed as he jerked and slumped forward. Ryan shoved upright. He lunged forward as the talon retreated. It dragged Michael’s body with it, flopping like a ragdoll. His gloved hands fumbled to grab his legs but Michael was torn away from him.

There was a sound of shredding metal before the wall was torn away. Water slammed into him hard enough to break ribs.

Ryan was turned end over end. He couldn’t tell which way was up. All around him was an endless void. Not even stars existed to guide him. As he spun without control, he became aware of blinking lights as the submarine fell slowly away from him. Its high beam turned on, flickering, and in its light Ryan saw a hulking shape wrapped around the sub. It was a mass of spines and scales. 

The light faltered. It came on again, and the creature was gone now, but the high beam lit up the water around Ryan. He floated in its light. Silhouetted, stark and obvious in the otherwise empty water, he kicked his feet and watched his submarine fall, taking his crew with it. 

Even as the beam flickered, it stayed fixed on Ryan. The water stirred around him. Out of the corner of his eye Ryan saw shapes moving in from behind him. He kicked his feet and turned in place.

Before him, lit by the sinking light, Ryan saw teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, scratch that. I'm never going in the ocean again.


	13. Inhuman

Lindsay was in no hurry as she made her way through the forest. There was a skip in her step and she hummed to herself. Michael would yell at her for taking this shortcut. For a hard-ass he could be kinda paranoid, always going on about the dangers of the woods. Bandits, snakes, wolves, yada yada. Lindsay had never had to worry about any of those things before. She was pretty lucky like that.

She stuck her hands in the pockets of her red coat and listened to the crunching of leaves beneath her feet. Out here among the trees, it was serene and picturesque. It was isolated without being quiet. There were always birds tweeting and critters rustling in the bushes. No matter what Michael said, she enjoyed taking walks through the woods.

Although, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard any birds in awhile. She strained her ears to hear some chirping song. It was oddly quiet all of a sudden.

A twig snapped behind her.

Lindsay jumped and spun around. Only silence followed, and nothing appeared from the shadows. She laughed at herself. Cursing her own jumpiness, she turned to continue walking.

There was a man leaning up against a tree ahead of her. He lounged, broad-shouldered with a sly smile on his lips. Lindsay stopped and stared at him. Her heart gave a sudden tug that was as familiar as it was unidentifiable.

“Hello there,” he said, voice almost a purr. “You look lost.”

Lindsay blinked at him. “Uh, no, I’m good. Just, ya know, heading home.”

“Would you like some company? A young woman like yourself shouldn’t be out in the woods all on her lonesome. You never know what kind of unsavoury characters you might run into.”

“Yeah…” Lindsay took in this monologue without reacting, then shook her head. “Sorry, are you like, a vampire or something?”

His head cocked. “Excuse me?”

She gestured at him. “I mean, the whole spooky ambiance and you just appearing, and being all cryptic, I’m assuming you’re some kind of monster or whatever. Right? Sorry if that’s rude. I don’t want to misread this situation.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“Clever girl. There’s no fooling you, clearly.” He smiled, and his cool blue eyes flashed monstrously. His teeth looked oddly sharp. 

Lindsay laughed nervously. “Cool, right. Soooooo, what’s the deal here? Are you going to suck my blood, or can I go?”

“I’m not a vampire,” he said. 

“Then what are you?”

“There is no human word for what I am,” he intoned, the words curling into her ears like a physical touch. “Nobody who has seen me has ever lived long enough to give me a name.”

“Oh.” Her thoughts raced by at a mile a minute. “So if I guess what you are, will you let me go?”

“I’m not Rumpelstiltskin,” he laughed, showing off his fangs as he did so. “You may call me...Ryan. For now.”

“Ryan. That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks, I stole it.”

“Oh.” Lindsay floundered. “That’s cool.”

His eyes glowed briefly, terrifying and inhuman. “You’re taking this rather well. I like you, in fact I’ll give you a head start. You have ten seconds to run.”

They stared each other down.

“What if I don’t?” Lindsay blurted, blatantly aware of the time ticking down. Ryan’s eyebrow quirked. 

“What?”

“If I don’t run. What happens then?”

“Then this will be over very quickly,” he answered. “Four, three, two…”

Lindsay tensed. But she did not move.

“...one,” Ryan finished, brow furrowing. Lindsay let out the breath she’d been holding on a laugh.

“What happened?” she asked, because her self-preservation instincts were notoriously bad. “Performance anxiety? That’s okay buddy, happens to everyone.”

“It’s not the same if you don’t run,” he grumbled, looking less and less composed. If he had feathers, they would be ruffled. Maybe he did have them, hidden away somewhere Lindsay couldn’t see.

“Half the fun is in the chase.”

Lindsay shrugged, ignoring how dry her mouth was. “Well, I’m not going to run. Sorry pal.”

“What is wrong with you?” He looked frustrated now, and whatever glamour was making him look humanoid seemed to falter for a second. Lindsay glimpsed scales, wings, curved horns- and then just like that he was back to normal, albeit with teeth that would better belong on a shark.

Her heart skipped a beat and she leapt on the opportunity his pouting presented.

“How about this?” she said hastily. “Walk me home, and if I can guess what you are before we get there, you let me go.”

His eyes narrowed, glinting like steel. “And if you fail, you will run.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, far more easily than she probably should have. It hadn’t been a question anyway. 

He thought for a moment, and she reached out her hand to shake on it. Ryan peered at her. Then he stepped forward and shook her hand, his skin rough and burning hot. He tightened his grip painfully.

“Alright then, human. Let’s play, and here’s your clue- I do not sleep, or age, or eat.”

He released her and Lindsay quickly rubbed her hand against her clothes. It didn’t matter, the crawling sensation lingered. She started off towards home, unpleasantly aware of the creature that stalked silently beside her. No leaves crunched under his feet.

“We already ruled out vampire,” she said, and he hummed. “The fangs and dramatics would have made that my first guess.”

He flashed his teeth at her. She fought down a shudder, watching how his eyes glimmered with delight. Lindsay thought back to the horns that she had glimpsed during his brief loss of composure.

“If you don’t eat, what do you want? My soul? Are you a demon?” she asked.

His grin widened. Dark, curling horns singed their way out through his hair. They burned away the illusion hiding them until they appeared, sharp and lethal on top of his head.

“No,” he said. “Guess again.”

“I need better clues than that,” she pressed.

“Fine.” She had a feeling he was enjoying this game, and that was only reason he was indulging her. “When you first saw me, you recognised me.”

Lindsay’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. It was true that she had felt an odd sense of familiarity when she spotted him, but she was certain she’d never seen his face before. And if what he’d boasted was true, she would never have lived after seeing his true form. Was he something more abstract, then. Something that lurked in these woods that she’d travelled through so many times?

“You are a spirit,” she said slowly. “A spirit of...of the trees.”

He chuckled. One hand stroked a tree, his fingers becoming talons that raked across the bark. They left deep, jagged grooves in their wake.

“The trees would fear me just as much as you do. As you should. One more guess.”

“What?” she demanded, a note of panic sneaking into her voice. “You didn’t say I’d only get three!”

“You’ve wasted two already,” he pointed out. Those claws reached out. She shut her eyes and fought not to flinch as they stroked through her hair. One brushed her ear, sharp as a razor, and left a line of blood behind. 

“One more guess,” he repeated, voice low and perilous.

Lindsay swallowed hard. “Then I want one more clue.”

“Fine.” The claws fell away, slicing a lock of her hair on its way. He hardly seemed to notice. Lindsay felt her stomach drop out.

His glowing eyes turned to slits, and in the blue irises Lindsay saw shapes moving. Tiny silhouettes, twisting and reaching like they were screaming to be let out. She could almost hear them. Agonised souls stared from the windows of his eyes, and Lindsay was afraid.

“I have fallen further than any angel,” he told her slowly, while the shadows writhed behind his eyes. “It was my thread that wove the first soul together. A piece of me lies in every human that walks this earth, and every life that ever will.”

Lindsay’s knees had turned to jelly. They’d stopped walking at some point without her noticing. Now they just stared at each other, close enough to be lovers, except that Lindsay had someone waiting for her at home. Someone, it struck her suddenly, that might be waiting for a very, very long time.

She was so close. If she ran now, she might make it.

The corner of Ryan’s mouth hitched up, like he could hear her thoughts and they thrilled him.

“I…” Where had her words gone? Her mind was blank, and she couldn’t think of anything. She could not _fathom_ him. He was an impossible being. The longer she stayed speechless, the wider his smile grew. 

“Would you like to know who I am?” he asked her softly. “Would you like to name me?”

Lindsay trembled. The souls in his eyes reached for her, and she could not move a muscle.

He leaned forward, past her, horns brushing against her hair. His voice was a soft hiss in her ear. It made her shiver down to her bones.

“I am the nightmares you forgot the next morning,” he whispered. “I am the fear of walking alone in the dark. I am the mourning your husband will feel when you don’t return home tonight.”

Lindsay’s heart pounded, and she was sure he could hear it. He licked his lips as if tasting her fear.

“Every time you cried until you thought it would consume you, that was me. Every time you lost, and felt a piece of yourself tear away, that was me. Every time you took an axe to your own foundations, and watched the pieces crumble, that was me. I have been taking from you since the day you were born. And now, I shall have the rest.”

He leaned back, straightening to his full height. His shadow grew behind him and took on the shape of two enormous, jagged wings that flared out in warning. His horns stood tall and proud on his head. His eyes glittered.

“Ten,” he counted.

Lindsay ran.

She bolted away from him, running as fast as she dared. The once peaceful woods had become a maze of pitfalls. Roots and branches threatened to trip her up, slow her down, pin her long enough for her silent pursuer to catch up. Her own footsteps were loud, but the only thing she heard of him was the mocking laughter that echoed after her.

Twigs tore at her hair. She ran with her hands out in front of her, feeling her way through the darkness in the hopes that she wouldn’t fall. Her chaser had fallen quiet behind her. Had she lost him? Or was he centimetres away, toying with her, waiting to pounce on his prey?

She imagined she felt a warm breath on the back of her neck.

Lights came into view ahead of her. Lindsay almost wept. It was her home, on the edge of town. Michael had kept the lights on for her. He was waiting for her, worrying for her. She reached out to them, tears running down her cheeks.

The shadow of wings darkened her path. A rock turned beneath her foot.

Lindsay fell, and Grief consumed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just as much of a drama queen as Ryan hence the over the top monologues lol


	14. Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost half way there homies

Ryan slowly panned his torch beam over the cave walls. They were mostly worn smooth, but they’d found more and more carvings on their way down. Sure enough, he spotted another set of symbols sketched into the wall. He balanced his torch and fished out his notebook.

“Gavin,” he called over his shoulder. “Come look over here!”

Another light filled the cavern as the gangly man joined him. He quickly brought up his camera. Ryan stepped away to let him take pictures of the markings while he chewed his pencil and did his best to translate them. 

“This is amazing,” Gavin gushed, checking the photos once he was done.

“Still no treasure though,” mused Ryan.

“Well we’re not bloody done yet, are we Ryan? Chill out, Christ.”

“This place is pretty bare,” Ryan pointed out. “Who’s to say we’re the first ones here? Somebody could have already discovered this part of the temple and picked it clean.”

“Because, Ryan, if this place had been found already, we wouldn't have needed to dig in. We could have just bought a ticket like any other good tourist.”

He had a point there. It never took longer than a week for archeological revelations to become money-grabbing tourist traps. 

“What’s it mean?” Gavin asked.

Ryan squinted at the symbol again. “Something like ‘down,’ would be my best guess. Below. Deeper.”

“What do you mean you _guess._ What’s the point of you coming along if you can’t translate it?”

“I just _did,_ you prick. There isn’t always a corresponding word in English, especially not for dead languages. Most of this comes from context.”

Gavin was already ignoring him, peering at the carvings like he could read them himself.

“Down,” he repeated. “Like down to the treasure? Think we’ll find all the good gubbs deeper in?”

Ryan scratched his head and put his book away. “Maybe. Judging by the placement it could be a directional sign, or even a warning. We should be careful.”

“This isn’t tomb raider, Rybread,” snickered Gavin, and Ryan felt his face heat up. “You always want to be Indiana Jones. How many times have we found traps while digging?”

Ryan crossed his arms. “You fell in that hole once.”

“Only because you pushed me!”

He left Gavin to his squawking, taking the torch and glancing back up the tunnel.

“Where’s Jeremy?”

“Probably jerkin’ it.” He put his hand to his mouth and called out, voice echoing. “Hey Lil J! You jerkin’ it?”

Rolling his eyes, Ryan backtracked until he spotted the man, sitting on a stone and eating some jerky.

“Jeremy.”

No response. Ryan picked up a small rock and tossed it at him. 

“Ow!” Jeremy flinched, hand going to the back of his head before he spun around. “What the fuck?”

“Do you have earphones in? Why do you never hear us calling you?”

“Maybe I’m just sick of your whiny voice,” Jeremy shot back, shouldering his pack and falling into step beside Ryan. They headed back to where he’d found the carving, only to find Gavin already gone. No doubt he’d headed deeper into the temple. 

“You just didn’t want to share your jerky,” Ryan accused as they followed after.

“Excuse you, who ate two whole bags yesterday?”

“Oh look,” Ryan said, changing the subject. “Stairs.”

Jeremy shot him a shrewd look but they were quickly distracted by the cavern they had stumbled upon. The tunnel opened up into an enormous cave, the walls littered with carvings. Some were different, but most Ryan recognised as copies of that symbol earlier, signalling something below.

There was indeed a set of steps spiralling down along the outside wall. They led to a stone platform with a raised dais on it. There was something on the carved statue in the middle, too far away to see and really only visible because of the beam of sunlight that illuminated it. How the sun had found a way down here, Ryan didn’t know.

“Touch nothing but the lamp,” Jeremy intoned. He snickered at Ryan’s confused look, so it must have been a Disney reference. They seemed to be the only movies he knew.

“Gavin!” Jeremy called suddenly. Ryan leaned over the edge and spotted the lad as he approached the statue. He spun around and waved up at them.

“Careful Gavin!” Ryan shouted, heart leaping. An inky black pit surrounded the platform on all sides. As much as they had been joking around before, he really didn’t want to see anybody fall down. Not even Gavin.

The man waved off Ryan’s concerns. He stepped right up to the statue and inspected it, camera at the ready. Something caught Ryan’s eye. He turned and noticed more of the carvings at the entrance of the tunnel he and Jeremy had just vacated. Previously hidden, they covered the walls, the ceiling, peeked out of shadows. 

Something cold settled in the pit of his stomach. He trailed his fingers over one of the symbols.

_Down._

These didn’t look like directions. They didn’t even seem like a description, or a historical recording, or a celebration of anything. The way they were inscribed everywhere, their placement almost random but growing more scattered as they reached this place, made it seem more like the desperate scrawlings of a madman. 

Who would repeat such a simple word over and over? And why? The only reason Ryan could think was that they wanted to drill it into the head of whoever ventured into this temple. If they ignored the first symbol, or the second, then they would be bombarded with them until the interloper got the point.

But what was the point?

The more he stared, the more it really did begin to feel like a warning.

“Gavin,” he called hesitantly. Then he turned around. “Gavin!”

The man ignored him, camera lowered. His entire focus was on the stature and the object in its hand. He reached out.

“Don’t touch anything!” Ryan shouted, running to the edge.

He was too far away to do anything. Even Jeremy, halfway down the staircase, was only looking at him with puzzlement. Gavin put his hand on the statue. Nothing happened. He took the artifact off of it, holding it in both hands and tilting it this way and that.

“What is it?” Jeremy called.

Gavin turned to him, opening his mouth.

He jolted, muscles seizing like he’d been electrocuted. His teeth were bared, jaw clenched painfully as he shook and jerked, falling to the ground.

“Gavin!” he and Jeremy shouted in unison. 

Jeremy took off down the rest of the steps. Unwilling to wait, Ryan took his grapple from his belt and hooked it recklessly into a crack. He rappelled down to the platform, beating Jeremy easily. He sprinted to Gavin and dropped to his knees.

For a moment he just tried to support his head, but Gavin continued with his violent seizures. It was then that Ryan realised he was still clutching the artifact. It looked like a cloudy glass ball. Using the corner of his shirt Ryan knocked it free of Gavin’s clinging fingers. It rolled across the platform and over the edge. He didn’t hear it land.

Immediately, Gavin’s shuddering stopped. He went limp. Ryan held his head in his lap, looking up at Jeremy with concern.

“Did you bring a medkit?” he asked him.

Jeremy shook his head. “Pretty sure he needs more than just a band-aid, Ryan.”

“Right. Let’s get out of here then.”

They made a few attempts to wake Gavin, but he seemed completely out. Ryan hoisted him into his arms. He was glad the man was so light as he started up the stairs after Jeremy.

They were almost to the top when he felt him shift. He paused and looked down, just as hands grabbed his face. Gavin yanked his head down and head butted him in the nose.

Ryan swore and immediately dumped him. Pain speared through his skull. His eyes watered. He heard Jeremy give a shout and then there were hands around his ankles, dragging him unceremoniously down the stairs. Ryan yelped. He started clawing at the stone, alarmed, and felt Jeremy grab a hold of him.

“Gavin, what the hell!” he shouted. His face had gone pale. 

Ryan looked over his shoulder. Gavin was heaving, jerking frantically at Ryan’s legs in an attempt to drag him down. His face was completely expressionless. Smooth as stone, except for his eyes, which crackled white like lightning.

Ryan struggled against the thin hands around his ankles and kicked at Gavin. He refused to let go until a foot caught him in the face. Immediately Jeremy tugged him upright and they hauled ass up the steps.

“What the fuck was that?” Jeremy panted. They paused at the top of the stairs, realising that Gavin had not followed them.

“He’s possessed,” Ryan said, thoughts racing. “Or crazy. He’s trying to kill us.”

Jeremy stared at him in dismay. “Ryan, it’s _Gavin._ He couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Which is when the rope from Ryan’s earlier rappel flung up and wrapped around Jeremy’s neck. He jerked, and the line went taught, yanking him violently backwards over the ledge. Ryan dove for him. He missed, almost falling himself, and saw Jeremy hit the ground below with a horrible crunching noise. He screamed.

Gavin stood a few feet away, holding the end of the line. He pulled, and with strength that didn’t belong to him Gavin dragged a screaming Jeremy along the ground. Like a fish on a hook Jeremy thrashed and struggled. The rope around his neck would not come loose no matter how much he clawed at it.

Moving like an insect, Gavin dragged him hastily backwards to the edge of the platform. Then he reached down, fisted his hands in Jeremy’s clothes and hauled him over the edge.

They tumbled down out of sight.

Ryan pushed himself up and away from the ledge. He hardly dared breathe in the sudden silence that followed. Jeremy wasn’t screaming anymore. The last echo of his cries took a while to fade, until Ryan couldn’t tell if it was the cavern or just the ringing of his own ears.

And then a hand appeared over the ledge. Ryan’s breath caught, and Gavin heaved himself up, movements jerky and skittering. He moved like a spider, limbs snapping and sharp. His head jerked towards Ryan. Eyes alight, he darted for the stairs.

Ryan took off running. His footsteps echoed and he heard the skittering of kicked rocks behind him. He’d left the torch behind in his shock. Running through the dark, Ryan almost stumbled when he noticed a light up ahead. They were still too deep, what could possibly be shining so brightly?

He darted past it, barely sparing a glance long enough to realise that it was one of the symbols. It glowed a fierce red. Definitely a warning. Too little too late. 

He passed another, then four more. They lit up the tunnels. Guiding him out. All of them, proclaiming brightly and fearfully- _down._ Down deeper. Down below. Down dragged, kicking and screaming, just like Jeremy had been. 

Ryan got lost in his confusion. He turned down random tunnels, now knowing that following the symbols was a mistake. All the while he heard the sounds of a chase behind him, even as he ended up going in circles.

Finally, he spotted a set of glow sticks. They sat on the floor next to a rope, exactly where they’d left it to indicate their way out. Ryan ran to it and quickly started pulling himself up.

Nails tore at his pants. Gavin yanked at him with all his might. His clawing pulled him away from the wall and it took a surprising amount of Ryan’s strength for him to hang onto the rope. He clung and kicked until he felt his boot collide with something squishy. The hands released his ankles. 

Ryan climbed as fast as he could. The higher he got, the brighter it became, and the louder the sound of snarling grew beneath him. He was almost to the ledge now.

Hands reached down to him. Ryan’s heart soared with relief at the idea of someone coming to his rescue. Unthinkingly he let go of the rope and reached up, clasping their hand. They tugged him upward. Feeling supported, Ryan released the line entirely and grasped the second hand that was extended to him. 

And then he looked up. Jeremy stared down at him. His face was stone smooth, and harsh, white lightning crackled just beneath his eyelids. 

He let go of his hands, and Ryan fell _down._


	15. Devious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin fucks up

It started out small, like these things always did.  
Gavin switched out Ryan’s face-paint for crayons. In retaliation, Ryan put bleach in his shampoo. Gavin threw out his stash of Diet Coke and had his golden pistol stolen in return. 

It only escalated from there.

And yeah, maybe they kind of went overboard with it. Ryan suspected right around the time he left a bomb in Gavin’s car that was triggered to blow up before he got in it. Or maybe when Gavin replaced all of his bullets with blanks. The latter wouldn’t have been such a problem if they hadn’t been in the middle of a gunfight when he noticed. 

But the thing was, they were still just pranks. Gavin knew Ryan was a killing machine even without a gun. Ryan had been waiting just out of view when the car exploded. They weren’t actually trying to kill each other. It had just become something of a game of theirs. 

Every escalation, every grander prank fired off some kind of electricity between them. Gavin had walked into the office that day covered in soot. His eyes had met Ryan’s and a spark passed between them.

_Oh, it’s on._

The crew told them to stop. It was funny at first, though they quickly grew annoyed. But the pair were agents of chaos. They could not and would not be reigned in if they didn’t want to be. It was all for fun. They were in control.

So when Ryan woke up in a coffin, his first thought was not _where am I?_ It was, _I’m gonna kill that British fuck._

His memory was fuzzy and he had no idea how he’d ended up in a box. Judging from his grogginess Gavin had slipped a little extra something into his food. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but his mouth was dry as sandpaper and his muscles ached from the cramped position.

Ryan groaned into the darkness. Well this was just great.

There was something keeping his hands bound together. He wriggled until he got his forearms in front of his face. His nose bumped against something smooth, probably duct-tape, and he tore into it with his teeth. There was a loud tearing sound and his hands came free.

Immediately Ryan began banging on the wood above him.

“Hey!” he yelled, voice already hoarse. He had the worst case of cottonmouth. “Let me out of here! _Free!_ ”

Something vibrated in the dark, startling him so greatly he would have jumped a foot in the air if he’d had the room. He fumbled in the darkness. His hands found the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. Gavin’s winking face lit up the screen.

Ryan answered the call and put it on speaker so that he could stay holding the phone on his chest. The light of its screen lit up the coffin he was in, making it seem a little less stifling.

“You better let me out right now,” he said without a greeting.

“Hey Rybread,” Gavin’s voice replied, clearly smothering laughter. “How you doing? Need to pee yet?”

“This isn’t funny, Free.” Ryan’s heart was pounding, he realised. He knew Gavin didn’t know he was claustrophobic, and he wasn’t about to bring it up now. Deep down Ryan was aware that if he did know, Gavin wouldn’t have done this to him. 

It didn't make it better. He held his breath for a moment and let it out slowly. It seemed like Gavin heard it, because when he spoke again, his tone was serious.

“Are you alright Ry?”

“Yeah,” Ryan muttered. “Yeah, just let me out now. You had your fun.”

“Don’t worry, I’m already on my way. Got my shovel and everything. Serves you right for flooding my room last week, you bastard.”

“You handcuffed me to a chair!”

“You were within reach of the fridge, quit complaining about that. And you got out of it in like, ten minutes.” Ryan heard a car door slam shut. “Okay I’m here, keep your knickers on.”

He relaxed slightly. Ryan could hear Gavin walking now, feet crunching on gravel. The noise stopped suddenly. His grip tightened on the phone when he heard Gavin’s sharp intake of breath.

“What?” he asked nervously. Gavin didn’t reply, and that was more concerning than if he’d said something bad. “Gavin, what?”

The line went dead.

Ryan laid there in the dark, staring at nothing. Disbelief slowly wound its way through his shoulders, leaving tension in its wake. He waited for Gavin to call him back. Maybe he’d started digging already, or dropped his phone. He’d wait for a minute and then ring him again.

Ryan tapped the screen to light up the space around him again, then laid it face up on his chest. Slowly he put his head down and closed his eyes. He took deep, steadying breaths. Focused very very hard on anything other than where he was.

It didn’t work. He was hyper aware of how the walls closed in around him. The air tasted stale. He wondered how much he had left, and if Gavin would let him out before it became difficult to breathe.

Had he forgotten about him already?

Ryan tapped his fingers nervously against the phone screen.

Nothing left to do except sit and wait for Godot. He chuckled to himself, the sound strained. His skin felt tight. Muscles twitched, instinctively wanting to lash out and free himself from his confinement. The longer he laid there, the worse it became. 

Breath coming faster, Ryan tried to pick up the phone to call Gavin, but his shaking fingers fumbled it. It slipped down beside him and went dark. Immediately Ryan patted around for it. His hands came up empty. His heart was racing and he was panting heavily, making the air warm with his fear. 

“Fuck!” His shoulder hit the side of the coffin and he cracked. Something snapped in his head. Ryan started pounding on the wood, the ceiling, the walls. He clawed at them until his fingernails bled. Thrashing like an animal in a cage, he screamed the entire time. Sometimes obscenities, other times begging. But mostly, he just let out wordless shouting and fought against every inch of the walls enclosing him.

“Let me out!” he screamed. 

Ryan barely recognised that he was hyperventilating. He slammed his head hard against wood and didn’t even falter. Just kept jerking and kicking and clawing in the hopes that something would give way.

It didn’t. He was trapped. He was _trapped_ here and nobody was coming for him.

So caught up in his panic, Ryan missed the fact that it was no longer dark in the coffin. When he finally noticed, his struggling slowed. Then his hand darted out and snatched up the phone where it was buzzing. The screen read two missed calls.

He answered it and held it close to his face. 

“Hello?” he gasped. His face was sweating bullets.

“Ryan?” It was Geoff. Hearing his voice made Ryan’s heart lift even as his stomach dropped. Something was wrong.

“Geoff. It’s me, I’m...I want out, Geoff.”

“I know Ryan,” and oh, that was bad. Geoff rarely showed his soft side, but now his tone was warm and comforting. Like soothing a wounded animal. Or delivering bad news.

He went on, “Ryan, Gavin told me what happened. He said he went to go let you out immediately, but the place where you were buried- it was dug up already. Your coffin was gone. Ryan, I don’t know how to say this buddy...we don’t know where you are.”

Ryan had stopped breathing. He just stared as he listened, the words settling over him like a shroud. There was a shuffling and a muffled disagreement. Then Gavin was on the phone. 

“Ryan!” he sounded fearful, and oh so young. “Ryan, I’m so, so sorry Ryan. Somebody must have seen me bury you, I don’t know who. I don’t know how this happened but I’m gonna fix it, I swear. I’m sorry Ryan. We never should have done this stupid prank war.”

Ryan felt numb. “It’s okay Gavin,” he heard himself say, voice distant. After a scuffle Geoff took back the reins.

“Ryan, stay calm. The whole crew is out looking, and Gavin and I are heading back to the penthouse to track your phone. The moment we find out where you are, somebody will be ten minutes away. Can you hang in there until then?”

“It’s not like I can go anywhere,” he pointed out grimly. Geoff laughed, the sound pained.

“You boys think you’re so god damn devious. Didn’t I tell you to quit this nonsense? It was only a matter of time until something went awry.”

“I know Geoff.”

“Ryan.”

“Yeah?”

“Ryan,” he said again, softer now. Almost like he knew how desperately Ryan was clinging to his voice.

“Yes Geoff?”

“We’re coming to get you Ryan. You’re going to be okay.”

Ryan sucked in a deep, purposeful breath. He pressed the phone to his forehead and closed his eyes.

“Just breathe, buddy. We’re on our way.”

He felt his heart settle at the words. Of course his crew were coming for him. Whoever had dug him up hadn’t done anything to him yet. There was no reason to be afraid.

It really was warm in the cramped space, especially after his panic attack. Ryan wiped the sweat from his brow again. The air felt thin. He purposefully ignored that fact.

“It’s hot as balls in here, Geoff.”

That got the other man to laugh. “We’re here, Gavin’s already on the computer.”

“I’m working as fast as I can Rybread,” Gavin called from further away. 

“Hurry, please,” Ryan said. He felt like he was going to boil up in this heat. 

“Got it!” he heard Gavin yell triumphantly. “We’ve got coordinates, Ry. Looks like you’re in some kind of shed down by the West End. I think Michael was the closest, I’ll ring him straight away.”

Ryan let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. The first thing he would do when they let him out was strip his jacket off. God it was stifling. Thank Christ he wasn’t wearing his mask. It would have surely melted right off his skull.

“Thanks, Gavin. I’m not even gonna get you back for this, you know. I think I’m done with pranks for awhile.”

Gavin’s tone was guilty. “Yeah. Me too Ryan. Me too.”

“He’s calling the crew,” Geoff supplied helpfully. “I’ll head out now but Michael will no doubt beat me there. We’re in the home stretch now buddy.”

“Fucking finally,” Ryan gasped. He shifted uncomfortably, boots knocking against wood. Something crackled outside and he paused for a moment, listening. Was he not underground like he’d thought?

“Trevor’s calling me,” Geoff said suddenly. “Are you gonna be okay if I switch over for a bit? I’ll ring you right back.”

“Make it quick,” Ryan assented.

The call ended. Automatically the screen went dim. Ryan quickly went to tap it, unnerved to be laying in the dark, but he paused. It wasn’t as dark as before. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he realised he could see cracks of light. Along the edges of the coffin was a flickering red glow. 

Balancing the phone carefully on his chest, Ryan put his hands flat against the lid. Through the wood he could feel a heat. Pressing his hands for too long seared his skin. He yanked away, brain reeling, refusing to acknowledge what that meant.

The phone lit up and Ryan answered it on autopilot.

“Fuck!” Geoff talked in a rush, tone frantic. Beyond him he could hear the sounds of driving, and a screech like he was cutting off cars at breakneck speed.

“The warehouse you’re in, it’s on fire Ryan. You need to try and get out. For the love of God, get the hell out of there, we’re not going to make it in time! Ryan!”

The sound of his name jolted him into action. Ryan dropped the phone, Geoff’s voice still filtering through the speaker while he started pounding on the lid. It rattled beneath his fists but did not give. Outside the wood, the sound of crackling had gotten louder. Heat baked the air, practically boiling him alive. The coffin grew almost excruciatingly hot to the point where it burned his hands to push at it. 

But push he did. Ryan beat and kicked at the lid until he heard a crack. Weakened by fire, it started to splinter. More orange light spilled into the space. The air that followed it should have been a relief, but it was even hotter and stung his eyes. It felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs. 

Ryan coughed, nose filling with smoke. There was a horrible smell in the air that he was unpleasantly familiar with, because he’d had to burn a lot of bodies in his time. There was no better way to get rid of evidence than to send it up in flames. 

He was only vaguely aware of the voices shouting at him over the phone. Ryan imagined he could hear Michael too, yelling for him somewhere distant. Or maybe he was just twisting the roar of fire in his head to sound like a voice. He hardly dared hope for anything else.

His skin blistered. Tears slipped free at the pain and evaporated quickly. It hurt too much to keep his eyes open.

The coffin lid splintered. Then buckled in on itself.

Ryan had a split second to rejoice before the flames devoured him.


	16. Betrayal

“Hey Ryan?”

The Vagabond grunted without taking his eye away from the scope. He heard Trevor shift next to him, no doubt leaning away from his own rifle.

“How come you’re up here with me? I thought you were usually, like, team strike force. Big bad Vagabond comin atcha.”

Ryan smiled smugly. “I’m not just a piece of meat, Treyco. I do more than just stand around looking pretty.”

“So that’s what your job is usually? You’re just there to intimidate people when deals go down?”

“Do you always talk this much during missions?” He glanced away just long enough to see the man shrug. “I do whatever needs doing. Sometimes that’s acting scary, or providing back up and firepower. Today that means playing overwatch just in case these guys pull anything shifty.”

“Is Geoff worried then?” Trevor asked, concerned. Ryan attributed his questions to nerves. He was still relatively new to the crew, after all. 

The two of them currently had their eyes on the warehouse where a meeting was taking place between the Fakes and a group of upstart criminals. They liked to wear masks and cause trouble. That was all fine, so long as they didn’t cause trouble in their direction, which was why Geoff was meeting with them today.

Ryan let out a hum. “Jeremy said he’s met at least one of them, so he’s vouching. It’s the masks that’s got Geoff’s hackles up, I think. He doesn’t like people who don’t show their face.”

He could feel Trevor’s eyes on him. “He must hate you then,” he said pointedly.

Ryan grinned and reached out to pat his skull mask where it sat between them.

“That’s different. It’s more of a fashion statement than a disguise. Besides, I don’t want my enemies getting distracted by my pretty face, it wouldn’t be a fair fight otherwise.”

“How chivalrous of you,” Trevor snorted. 

“Yeah, I’m a real gentleman.”

Silence fell between them. Ryan pressed his eye back to the scope, being careful to check opposing buildings for anybody mirroring their position. So far it seemed clear. A look at his watch told him that the others would be showing up soon. There was no reason to think this meeting would go south, but Ryan wasn’t planning on letting his guard down regardless.

Trevor piped up again, like he was uncomfortable with the quiet. A shame, Ryan enjoyed it. 

“So how exactly did that all come about?”

“What now?” Ryan asked without looking away from the warehouse.

“The whole Vagabond thing. How do you end up top dog in a career like this?”

The analogy made him snicker. “Bark the loudest,” he provided, fingers tapping on his gun in amusement. “Piss in as many yards as possible.”

“Always knew your bark was bigger than your bite,” Trevor joked.

Ryan laughed outright, a short, loud burst. “Oh no, my bite is lethal. Don’t get me wrong kid. I’m the biggest, baddest dog because I fought everybody bigger than me until there was no one left.”

He turned his gaze on Trevor. The younger man had seemed startled by his laughter, and now stared at him with wide eyes. Ryan grinned wide, as if to show off his teeth.

“There’s a hierarchy to criminals, just like there is for wolves. Geoff might play at Alpha but he doesn’t hold my leash.”

Trevor swallowed. 

“Good to know,” he said quietly.

“Are you done?” Ryan checked. “How many questions do you have for me? I’m a Sagittarius, if you’re wondering.”

Trevor looked sheepish. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

“Excellent.” 

A car door slammed and the two of them both quickly turned their attention back to the warehouse. Down below, Geoff, Jack and Gavin all headed towards the open roller door. Michael stayed in the car. Ryan could see him tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in agitation. He was an excellent driver and an even better shot, but not usually the best person to include in sensitive meetings like this. 

Ryan watched through his scope as a tall, slim man peeled away from the wall to meet them. He wore a brown mongoose mask to hide his face. Geoff looked tense, but Gavin and Jack flanked him as they struck up a conversation with the stranger.

“Is there only one?” Trevor asked in confusion.

“Keep an eye on them while I do a sweep,” Ryan ordered. Trevor went appropriately still, scope pinned on the crew. Meanwhile Ryan carefully scanned the rooftops again. Still nothing, and a perusal of the street showed nobody lurking in the shadows. Still, something didn’t feel quite right.

“Ryan!” Trevor called urgently. Quickly he swung his gun back around, just in time to see the mongoose man shoot Geoff in the head. 

Ryan’s heart stopped beating. Then, just as his finger twitched on the trigger, a mask that looked like a badger filled his vision. A second man had appeared and quickly pulled the roller door shut, hiding all of them from view.

Trevor fired off a shot as it happened, the bullet near silent. 

“Did you get him?” Ryan demanded, thoughts racing.

“I don’t know,” confessed Trevor. “It happened too quick, I might have missed.”

Ryan swore. He snatched up his mask and crammed it on. The Vagabond abandoned his sniper and ran for the fire escape, calling out for Trevor to stay where he was and cover him.

He slid down the ladder without touching the rungs, landing in a crouch. Drawing a gun from his hip he leaned around the corner. At first glance it looked clear. A second glance confirmed it, because he wasn’t a fucking amateur. Staying low, he darted to the car, pressing up against the driver’s side door. He rapped on the glass with his knuckles.

Ryan waited a second for Michael to open the door, or roll the window down. He did neither. After another cautious look around himself, Ryan turned and rushed to open it himself, not liking having his back exposed. The car door opened easily. 

Michael was slumped over the steering wheel. Blood covered the windshield, and when Ryan pulled him back by his shoulder, there was a very obvious exit wound through the front of his forehead. Someone had picked him off. Ryan hadn’t even heard the shot.

Heart dropping, Ryan let go of him and immediately flattened himself against the car door. There was a livewire running beneath his skin. If they’d taken out Michael they probably had eyes on him, right now. The shot looked like it had come from up high. But he’d been so careful to check every available sniping position. He’d advised Michael on where to park to keep as much cover as possible. 

Instinct pulled his attention to the side mirror. He caught a flash in the reflection, the unmistakable glint of sunlight on metal as somebody lined up their shot on him.

Ryan dove forward. A mirror exploded as a bullet scraped by him. He rolled to his feet and took off towards the warehouse. There was no better cover, and more than anything he needed to get inside, both to get out of view of the sniper and to find out what happened to the rest of his crew. He ducked and zig-zagged as he ran. Ryan wasn’t a small man but he tried to make himself as small a target as possible. They would have to be an incredibly good shot to get him while he was-

A bullet tore through his abdomen.

Ryan thought he heard something pop. It could have only been in his head, because his ears were ringing from a gunshot he hadn’t heard. There was empty space in his stomach that wasn’t meant to be there. He hit the ground on his side. There was a horrible, wrenching pain in his gut. Ryan had been shot before. He knew what this was. He just couldn’t quite believe it.

The shock made his hands shake as he tried to cover the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers like a sieve.

 _Ow,_ he thought, a little hysterically. 

Somewhere far away, he heard Gavin start screaming. The sound was horrible and shredded. It clawed at his ears. Wound its way under his skin.

Hissing against the pain, Ryan slowly hauled himself onto his front. Gravel scraped at his forearms. His wound jerked at the movement, making him gasp. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he began to drag himself forward. First one arm. Then the other. His elbows caught on the ground and the skin tore off, but it hardly mattered. He was already leaving a smear of blood behind him. 

Footsteps approached him. Ryan paused, head spinning from blood loss. He looked up to see a badger mask before a boot caught him in the chin. The man kicked him hard enough to flip him onto his back. All of the air left him in a strained squeak. His head lolled. The sky spun above him and for a moment, Ryan couldn’t remember where he was.

Then he heard a coy laugh.

“Alrighty Matt. That’ll do, I’ll take it from here.”

Ryan let his head fall to the side. Trevor approached him, sniper rifle slung lazily over one shoulder and a skip in his step. He lifted his free hand and the badger man threw him something. It was another mask. This one resembled a white ferret, and Trevor slipped it over his face in one practiced motion. It did not cover his smile.

“Tsk tsk, Ryan. Sloppy work. That was almost too easy,” he chided. “Matt, go help Fredo. I have this handled.”

The second man left. It was just him and Trevor. Ryan wanted to make some attempt at vengeance, maybe kick his legs out from under him and wrestle the gun away. The very thought made the muscles around his bullet wound clench painfully. His vision was beginning to get a little fuzzy.

“You know,” Trevor said thoughtfully. “You look good like this. Crawling on your belly. You really are like a dog, aren’t you? Sorry to push the metaphor, but man, are you a bitch.”

He laughed, throwing his head back. Sunlight glinted off the gun he held. Ryan fumbled his mask off, fighting to breathe.

Trevor looked delighted. “Trying to distract me? What happened to a fair fight?”

Ryan spat blood. “Traitor.”

Trevor’s eyes turned to steel behind his mask. He stepped forward and planted his heel in Ryan’s wound, leaning his weight onto it. Ryan cried out, squirming to get away. The boot only dug in deeper. 

“You know Ryan,” he said. “I would have liked to bring you in on this. But I just couldn’t get a feel of where you stood. Was it money that swayed you? Loyalty? But no, you just like to think of yourself as a lone wolf, don’t you? Always the drama queen, huh Rybread?”

From the warehouse, Jack’s screams joined Gavin’s. Their begging intertwined and split the air. Ryan’s fingers scrabbled against the ground. He wanted to reach up and cover his ears, but he couldn’t find the strength to lift his arms.

“The thing about nobody holding your leash, Ryan,” he went on, voice cool, “Is that it means you can’t be tamed. You’re too wild. Too feral. And you know what happens to feral dogs, my dear Vagabond?”

Trevor swung the rifle down in one careless movement, aiming it at Ryan’s head. He stared down the barrel. 

“They get put down,” said Trevor, and pulled the trigger.


	17. Demonic

“Shh,” Ryan soothed the young angel in his arms. Alfredo trembled, his feathers in disarray as he wept against his chest. The halo that grew out of his head flickered dimly with grief.

“It’s alright now, Fredo. Come on, explain to me how this happened.”

The fledgling clung to Ryan’s shoulders. He was so small, curled up into a ball in his lap. Ryan combed his fingers through his wings to settle the feathers. Grooming him, until the shuddering sobs eased enough for him to speak.

“They prayed for me,” he said tearfully. “I arrived to give them my blessing, but they trapped me. Chained me. They’d carved symbols in the bindings that burned my wings, Ryan I- I was so scared. Why would they do that?”

Ryan recalled how he’d found him. Sensing the young angel’s distress, he had gone to him, finding him trapped in a circle of symbols and cultists that had flung glowing netting over his wings. Alfredo had screamed for him. It took only a flick of his razor sharp wings to slice through the chains. Holy fire forced the cultists back so that he could scoop up his brethren and whisk him away to safety.

Now he kissed Alfredo’s head, smoothing his wingtips. 

“Humans are greedy,” he explained, trying to keep the rage from his voice. It would do no good to comfort his brother. “Some are foolish enough to try and take God’s light for themselves. They think angels are the key to that.”

“But why?” He still shook, unable to understand. Alfredo was still so young. Barely a century old. But Ryan had seen enough war and horror to have lost some of his love for humanity. Those starry-eyed days of wonder seemed so long ago now. He could see himself in Alfredo’s face. So lost. So hopeful.

“Rest,” he said instead of answering. “Mend your wings. I will take over your blessings for now.”

The fledgling tucked himself up against him again, like a chick burrowing under its mother for warmth. His halo glowed a more natural vibrance.

“Thank you Ryan.”

Ryan wrapped his wings around him and let his fury simmer.

 

They’d taken up residence in an old farm. Far from civilisation, where their devious work could go unnoticed. It was in the barn that Ryan had found Alfredo trapped the first time. 

He landed outside of it, hitting the ground hard enough to make it quake. His wings flared out stark and silver against the night sky. As Ryan stood and appraised the barn, feathers began to peel away from the rest. 

He stalked forward. Lightning split the sky open behind him, signalling his presence like an omen. God was not pleased with him. God would get over it.

He left a trail of feathers behind him. More and more tore away, swept up by the wind and scattering in the air like leaves, or snowflakes. His halo itched where it grew out of his temples. Like a silver crown it stood proud atop his head.

The barn doors opened as he approached. The human between them saw him and froze. All of the colour drained from his face. Ryan kept his pace, walking straight towards him with his gaze unwavering. The human stumbled back into the barn in terror. He called to his fellow cultists. As Ryan entered he saw them scramble to grab their artifacts and spellbooks. 

Someone flung holy water. It scalded his cheek, but he didn’t even wipe it away, just turned slowly to look over them. On the floor was the circle they’d used to trap Alfredo. Candles and Latin scribbles covered every surface of the room. The humans stood with either crosses or knives, seeming uncertain which would be more useful to protect themselves.

The answer was neither. Ryan looked over them impassively and felt his wing tips catch fire. Flames rolled along the last of the feathers until they met his shoulder blades. He stood before them, tall and imposing. One woman fell to her knees and began praying. Ryan ignored her.

He reached up and closed his fingers around the top of his halo. Tightened his grip. A crack split his crown, and the centre of his halo crumbled away in his hand, leaving only two curved, wicked sharp horns jutting out of his head. They burned even brighter for the break.

“Dear God,” somebody breathed.

“God has forsaken you,” Ryan told them. “Now you face _my_ judgement.”

The last of his wings burned away, leaving only shadows. Then the shadows burned away, leaving only ash. He stalked forward, and left lines of soot on the walls beside him. In the place between dimensions Ryan could still see his wings. Beautiful, terrible things made of bone and embers, showering sparks whenever they moved.

But the humans would only see invisible wings leaving impossible scorch marks on the walls. A few of them ran at him as he walked. Ryan cut them down like it was an afterthought, wings slicing through them and leaving them in pieces. The scent of seared flesh filled the barn.

He followed their leader as he fled to the back of the barn. The man ended up in his own circle of symbols, falling over in his panic. There was a deep terror in his eyes when he looked at Ryan. The angel loomed over him. 

“You humans thought you could steal our grace?” Ryan asked, voice low. He drew back some of the power that disguised his voice and watched the man’s ears begin to bleed in response. “You thought you could tear us apart and make us weak? You, a child to eternity, think that we can be broken? We are _so much stronger_ in pieces.”

Ryan clenched his fists and brought his hands down to his sides. Holy fire roiled along his skin. It licked along his invisible wings, showing their outline. The flames reached his horns and danced between them. Around him, the barn began to smoulder and burn.

“We weaken ourselves out of mercy. We feather our wings to soften their blow. We hide our light to _save your eyes_.”

The man curled over his knees. His hands clapped over his eyes as they caught fire, screaming. Ryan’s own eyes were bright with grace and white hot flame. His voice cracked like the thunder outside.

“You _dare!_ ”

The ceiling began to crumble in on them. Screams filled the air. Ryan could sense their need to flee, but did not allow any of them to rise from their kneeling positions. Let them sit there and burn.

Ryan waited there, letting his divine fury wreak havoc on the world, until there was nothing left but ash.

He remained in the ruins, long after. The fire had died, both in the barn and in his eyes. Ryan stood and soaked in the wreckage. Waiting.

Somebody touched down behind him.

“Ryan.” Alfredo’s voice cracked, sounding horrified. “What have you done?”

He turned. There was a calm confidence to his manner that he had never felt before. His wings were still embers. His halo was still cracked. Ryan would have to return to his Father to be repaired, to be fit to return to duty.

He didn’t want to be.

“I’m an avenging angel, Alfredo,” he told his brother. “I avenged.”

“This was not His will!” Alfredo argued vehemently.

“No,” admitted Ryan. “It was mine.”

His brother stared at him. There were tears in his eyes, along with recognition. It was obvious the choice Ryan had made. It was written in his cracked crown, his ravaged wings. The smouldering ruins all around them.

“You know this means I will have to fight you,” Alfredo said. His voice was wrecked with grief.

Ryan’s own tone softened. “I know.”

“I love you, Ryan. He loves you. Please don’t do this.”

Ryan reached out a smouldering wing, caressing his brother's porcelain feathers with his own tattered ones. Alfredo closed his eyes, tears slipping free.

“I’ve made my choice,” Ryan told him. Alfredo wept in response. His heart ached.

Ryan wrapped his sins around him and took to the sky.


	18. Sinister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do Inktober, they said. It'll be fun, they said. It's me. I'm the they.

“Morning, Mr Ramsey,” Jack greeted cheerfully, taking a seat at the table. In the centre was a chess board, and across from it sat a bearded man with downcast eyes. He barely reacted to the nurse’s presence. 

“Straight into it?” Jack asked, not really expecting a response. “It’s my go.”

He paused to put some thought into his first move. Eventually he nudged a pawn out. Normally he wouldn’t have worried too much about strategy, but despite his silence, and their surroundings, his competitor was quite sharp. Jack had yet to beat him in a game.

Sure enough, after a moment, Geoff Ramsey appeared to come to life. He seemed to inhale for the first time since he’d sat down. A heavily tattooed hand reached out and moved his own piece. Jack smiled.

They played for a few minutes. Jack dropped in questions, idle chatter to fill the silence. Geoff only ever responded with head movements but at least he was acknowledging him. Some days he would sit, drawn in on himself, refusing to even look at Jack. He always felt like he’d failed, somehow, on those days.

Sunlight spilled in the windows, warming the usually chilly room. Despite having worked in the mental ward for weeks now, Jack still couldn’t yet used to how cold it was. He spent a lot of evenings offering extra blankets to his patients. Now the common room was filled with patients and nurses alike, all of them chasing the warmth. 

It was nice. Made the place feel less gloomy. Jack could almost pretend he was sitting in a cafe, playing chess with a friend. An unusually quiet friend, who was about three moves away from kicking his ass.

“Jack?” Lindsay touched him on the shoulder just as Geoff was considering his next move. He looked up at her with a smile. Geoff didn’t even blink at her interruption.

“Yes, Lindsay?”

She bit her lip. “Another patient has asked to meet you.”

His eyebrows shot up. Jack followed her glance to the corner of the room, where a man sat by a window, eating his breakfast. He looked rather put together for a patient. Compared to Geoff’s sunken in appearance, this guy had bright eyes and moved with energy. Jack noticed his lips moving in between bites. Quietly talking to himself, it seemed. No guesses for why he was in here.

“I haven’t seen him around,” Jack noted in surprise, turning back to Lindsay. Her normally pleasant smile was gone. The closed off expression surprised him.

“Mr Haywood is usually fit to live his life normally,” she explained. “He re-admits himself whenever he feels he needs it.”

It was rare, but not unheard of. If anything Jack approved. Clearly the man had a good handle on his mental state, and what he needed to maintain his health. Not everybody was so against asking for help. It was refreshing, to say the least.

“He just noticed you were new, and wants to say hello,” she finished weakly.

“Well then I’d better go introduce myself,” Jack said, rising from his chair. He could finish this game right after.

But to his surprise, Geoff’s hand reached out and clamped around his wrist. Squeezed tight enough to hurt. Jack startled, looking down at him with surprise. His patient’s face was even paler than usual. Jaw clenched tight, Geoff stared at him with tense eyes, and very deliberately shook his head.

Jack glanced at Lindsay. Then he patted Geoff’s hand, trying his best to comfort him.

“Now Geoff, it’s alright. I’ll be right back. I just need to speak with another patient, and then we can finish our game. I promise.”

Geoff stared at him. He didn’t let go until Jack gently pried his fingers away. 

“No cheating,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. The man seemed to deflate. His hands settled heavily in his lap and his shoulders slumped, gaze going unfocused.

Unnerved, Jack stepped away from the table, frowning to himself. Lindsay took hold of his elbow. As they approached the corner of the room she gave Jack a quick rundown.

“His name is Ryan Haywood. He’s clear minded but has a bit of a temper, so...try not to upset him.”

“I’ll be fine Lindsay,” he assured his fellow nurse. Just because he was new here didn’t mean he was incompetent. He patted her arm and left her standing there with her arms around herself. 

Haywood’s lips were moving right up until Jack got within hearing distance. Then he paused and looked up. Jack offered him a winning smile.

“Hello Mr Haywood. I haven’t had the pleasure of working with you yet.”

The man looked him up and down slowly. He reached out a hand.

“Nurse Pattillo, I presume?” His voice was smooth and almost as deep as Jack’s.

“The one and only.” Jack shook his hand, glancing towards the empty chair. More than a few patients suffered from audio or visual hallucinations, and some could get very upset if he didn’t acknowledge those visions. Jack didn’t know exactly what imaginary friend Haywood had been talking to, but he probably wouldn’t be very happy if Jack sat on him.

His hesitation must have been obvious, because Haywood gestured towards the empty chair with amusement.

“Please have a seat, and call me by my first name. I know you know it.”

“Of course, Ryan.” Jack sat. “Though I only just learned it.”

Ryan hummed, going back to his breakfast. “What else have you heard about me?”

Jack suddenly became aware of Lindsay, tending to her own patients but very obviously keeping an eye on their conversation. There was a tension in her movements as she watched them. Jack preferred to keep a relationship of honesty and friendliness with his patients, but all evidence was telling him to tread lightly here.

“I’d rather get to know you personally,” he said. “I’m not a fan of rumours.”

“Really? I like them. They’re quite delicious little things.” He lifted a bite of bacon to his mouth, and the light glinted off his silver cutlery. “They can cause so much trouble, but at least they’re fun.”

Meanwhile, Jack had lost focus, now staring with horror at his metal cutlery.

“Where did you get those?” he demanded, leaning forward in alarm. “You’re supposed to have plastic cutlery.”

Ryan stopped and shot him a withering look.

“I am not one of your _at risk_ patients, Nurse Pattillo.”

“Which means that you can do as you like in private,” Jack argued, “But the common room is a shared space, and that means no metal knives or forks.”

His heart raced at the thought of a few weeks back, when he’d caught Geoff trying to smuggle a knife in his pocket. Somehow the act had felt like a betrayal. Jack had thought he’d been getting better.

Ryan snorted and cut another bite, completely unconcerned. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Ramsey. It’s dulled your brain. Not everybody here is crazy, you know.”

Jack’s tone sharpened. “We don’t use that kind of language.”

That earned him an unimpressed look. “Then what would you use?”

“I would say it’s unfortunate,” Jack said, “For a person to end up so lost in themselves that they’d try to cut their way out.”

He stood up, scooting his chair back and held out his hand authoritatively.

“I’ll go get you some proper cutlery. It’ll only take a minute.”

Ryan stared at his hand for a long moment. The way he clutched at his knife, blade glinting, was a little unsettling actually. Jack stood his ground. Waited with his palm open.

Finally, Ryan relaxed his grip on the knife. He twirled it easily between his fingers, then held it out with the handle pointed towards Jack. 

“Thank you,” Jack said shortly, taking the cutlery from him. “I’ll be right back.”

He headed for the kitchen. Halfway there Lindsay intercepted him.

“What did you do?” she asked, sounding a little panicked.

“Who gave him metal cutlery?” Jack demanded in response. “That’s definitely against the rules in the common area.”

“Oh Jack.” Her face was pale. “I’ll sort it out, please just- just go tend to your other patients. Trevor was asking for help earlier, I’ll take care of this.”

He hesitated, but Lindsay was his senior after all, so he handed the cutlery off to her and went back to work.

 

 

Geoff stopped responding to him. Their chess game remained on pause, the man refusing to even look at it no matter how much Jack cajoled him. Jack was at a loss. Sure the man would sometimes retreat into his own head, but usually not so completely. Usually not for this long. Jack had prided himself on his ability to get through to his patient.

“Geoff,” he called quietly. The man’s eyes didn’t flicker, just continued to stare out the window. Jack sighed. “If you’d like, I can take you back to your room. You seem tired.”

No response. Jack wheeled him to his quarters and tucked him into bed. The man turned his face away from him until Jack left.

He headed to the nearest computer. Perhaps there was something in Geoff’s file he had missed, some clue to his condition or his past that would explain what had triggered this sudden setback. Jack knew that healing was not a linear process, but he was a little worried that it was his fault. As illogical as that thought was, he couldn’t shake it. Jack didn’t want to be the cause of Geoff’s bad days.

Trevor tapped away on his own keyboard behind him. Jack smoothed a hand over his beard, tugging on his lip as he read through Geoff’s file. Something caught his attention that he’d skipped over before.

“Mr Ramsey was a reporter?” he asked aloud, interested. It was hard to imagine the silent, withdrawn man in such a position.

“He was an investigative journalist,” Trevor answered without looking up. “He came here, once.”

That made Jack turn around in surprise. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. He didn’t find anything, didn’t even do a report on us,” he shrugged off. “Then a little while later he had a mental breakdown and ended up here. Stress of the job, apparently.”

Jack frowned at nothing. “You don’t think that’s strange?”

Trevor stopped typing.

“No,” he said firmly.

And then he went back to his work, never once taking his eyes off his screen. Jack got the impression that he was done with the conversation. He turned back to his own computer. Reading through the file more thoroughly, he barely noticed when Trevor finished and left. But eventually he looked around and found himself alone.

Jack laid his hands out flat on the desk for a moment. Gnawed on his lip nervously. 

He exited Geoff’s file, and pulled up Ryan’s.

He shouldn’t have felt guilty. This was his job after all, and there was a reason they had this information on file. But Jack hadn’t lied. He did prefer to get information first hand from his patients. Sometimes it was hard to trust the bias of previous doctors, and even more often, their condition may have changed since their last diagnosis. But despite his beliefs, that didn’t make his snooping wrong.

It didn’t matter anyway. The guilt didn’t even have time to fade before Jack finished reading. Because the file was empty. Just blank pages with only a name at the top, and Ryan’s own signature. 

Jack sat back, dumbfounded. There was just...no explanation for this. It had to be a mistake. Leaning forward, Jack searched for any files containing Ryan’s name and clicked the first that popped up.

His eyes skimmed over the words quickly. The more he read, the more bewildered he became. These weren’t even patient documents, they were files for the ward itself. Legal documents, ownership and employee papers, and at the bottom of each one was the same signature.

Ryan Haywood, the odd patient that frightened Geoff and had admitted himself for care. That man was the legal owner and sole benefactor of the psychiatric hospital.

Jack felt a prick in his neck and shoved away from the desk in alarm. An immediate fuzziness spread through his head. Numbness flooded his limbs. He toppled off his chair and hit the ground, struggling to keep his eyes open. Lindsay leaned over him with a needle in her hand.

“I’m sorry Jack,” she said, sounding far away. A tear slid down her cheek just as Jack lost consciousness.

 

 

Jack came to on his back. His arms and legs were strapped to a table, and somebody was tying his head down. He forced his eyes open. It was Lindsay. Trevor stood behind her, chewing nervously on his fingernail and fiddling with what looked like a defibrillator machine. 

“Lindsay,” Jack moaned, mouth full of cotton. “What…”

She paused, glancing down at him. Trevor purposefully didn’t look in his direction, standing incredibly stiff. Lindsay, on the other hand, seemed to sag. Her eyes watered. She put a hand on his shoulder. 

A door opened behind him and her hand snapped away like she’d been burned.

“Doctor,” she said, and Trevor echoed her hurriedly.

“How is our patient?” said a horribly familiar voice.

“Ready, but uncooperative,” Lindsay said, all of the sympathy gone from her tone.

“That’s a shame.” Footsteps rounded the bed and Ryan appeared in his view. He wore an apron and face mask, but his sharp eyes were unmistakable. 

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he said calmly. “We’re here to help you. Lindsay, be a dear.”

She pulled a strap across Jack’s mouth, essentially gagging him. It pulled at the corners of his lips uncomfortably. He jerked against his restraints as the drugs wore off further. Suddenly he had a horrible feeling about where all this was going. 

“You have some difficulties in keeping touch with reality,” Ryan said, reading off a clipboard. Or pretending to, because there was no way he had any notes that said that. Jack was perfectly sane. He was _sane,_ God damn it!

Ryan clicked his tongue. “This is quite a pickle. But don’t worry Mr Pattillo, we’ll set you straight. I’m afraid shock therapy has been outlawed in this region, so we don’t have the proper equipment.”

He reached out a hand and Trevor was quick to hand him two paddles from the defibrillator. Ryan rubbed them together, a hum of electricity filling the air as the machine was charged up.

“But we’ll make do.”

“You’re insane,” Jack got out around the gag.

“Mr Pattillo, we do not use that kind of language around here. I am not insane, and neither are you. You are simply…” 

And here he smiled, slow and maniacal. 

“Unfortunate.”

And then he shoved the paddles against Jack’s chest and watched him spasm.

 

 

Later, after the the sizzling and the screaming and the writhing, Jack was fitted into a straight jacket and put in a solitary chamber. The walls were padded and white. It wasn’t until the door closed that he came back to himself.

Immediately he struggled to his feet and staggered to the door. His shoulder slammed against it hard. He couldn’t get his hands free to steady himself, so he just pressed his face against the bars.

“No! Wait!”

Lindsay hesitated out in the hallway.

“Lindsay!” he begged, legs still shaking from aftershocks. “Please. What is going on? Why are you doing this?”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” she said without meeting his gaze. “You should have listened to me.”

“Lindsay. _Lindsay._ ”

He started shouting as she walked away. Yelling and cursing like a madman. Jack beat his head against the bars and fought against the strait jacket.

The door closed on his screams. 

 

 

Geoff sat in front of a chess board. The pieces remained unmoved, still in the same position as they had been left over a week ago. He sat in his wheelchair and waited for Jack to come and take his turn. 

Footsteps approached him from behind. A hand reached out and moved the king piece out to the centre of the board. Ripe for the picking.

“How are you feeling, Geoff?” 

Geoff’s hands clenched on the sides of his chair. Slowly, reluctantly, he dragged his eyes up to look at Ryan. He didn’t respond.

The doctor, the patient, the snake- didn’t seem to mind. Just took the seat. _Jack’s_ seat.

“You know,” he said idly, gesturing at the board. “You really ought to be more careful about your friends. Worry not, Mr Pattillo will be joining you very soon. You might have to re-teach him the rules of this game.”

Geoff stared hard at the board. His fingers itched to reach forward and take the king piece, claim his victory. He sat frozen.

“I don’t want you to be lonely in the meantime,” Ryan went on. “Your old investigator friend is still looking for you. Perhaps I should give him a call. Free, wasn’t it? He’d no doubt be happy to hear from you.”

Geoff refused to look up, but his heart went cold. After a long, tense silence, he reached out and took hold of his last knight, in perfect striking distance to take out the king. Then he moved it away. Leaving his own champion piece unprotected.

Ryan’s smile widened. He knocked over Geoff’s king and stood up.

“Always a pleasure playing with you Geoff,” he said. He walked away, taking that shark-toothed grin with him.

Geoff put his elbows on the board and his head in his hands. He wept, and waited to see how many pieces his friend would return to him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mental illness is nothing to be afraid of, dears, but creepy doctors are. Also kudos to me for sidestepping like four great cliff-hangers just because I wanted to watch Geoff and Ryan play chess.


	19. Curse

The sounds of battle were overwhelming. Ryan waded through them, slashing and stabbing anyone who got in his way. He left enemies where they fell, whether they were still moving or not. There was only one that held his interest.

There- he spotted his target. King Ramsey, the tyrant, the Mad King, the heretic. And to think, Ryan had once looked up to him. Admired him, even. Only for him to betray his own people. His reign had become a circus act of frenzied and misguided decisions that left the kingdom in chaos.

But not anymore.

Ryan grasped his sword and charged forward with a shout. There were so few men left but those that could stand leapt out of his way. Like a rushing bull he pounded towards the King, who turned just in time to meet him.

Their swords clashed. Face feverish, Ramsey swung again, and Ryan lithely dodged it. Another he ducked. The third time, he reached up and caught Ramsey’s forearm, holding the sword at bay, and plunged his own blade into his chest.

The King lurched. His mouth gaped open, lips trembling around words that did not form. Ryan bared his teeth at him, their faces an inch apart.

“For my people,” he said, and spat.

He withdrew his sword in a sharp motion. Ramsey slumped to the ground. The light was fading from his eyes, but he looked up at him, and Ryan was struck by the sudden grief on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Ryan faltered. His sword drooped in his hand, bewildered by the air of guilt and almost relief surrounding the dying man. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes went glassy and his motions ceased. All around him Ryan could hear an uproar of cheering. Men threw down their weapons and tossed their helmets into the sky. In the thick of it all Ryan stood, unable to celebrate for some reason. This was what he’d been working towards for months. 

But now he looked down at the corpse at his feet, and worried.

 

 

Ryan had never been a King. There was no kind of training that readied you for it. He had led an entire army without fear, but the ceremony where they crowned him made his knees tremble. 

He made it through the crowning and the celebrations that followed. The crown felt heavy on his head. He kept catching himself reaching up to adjust it. Eventually he just committed to keep his hands clutching the throne or a goblet of wine. It was only his first day as ruler, he would get used to it. Surely.

It was well into the morning before the party ended. Ryan headed to his new chambers, deep in the castle. They were lavish and beautiful. Far more resplendent than anything he’d had in his entire life. It was hard to believe this was now his.

He was almost grateful that the celebrations had worn him out too much to dwell on it. Ryan kicked off his boots and hung his crown over the corner of the bed frame. Then he landed facedown on the silken sheets and fell immediately asleep.

 

_The sounds of battle were overwhelming. He turned in place, spinning through the chaos. Something stalked him amongst the bloodshed. He could sense it, always there, forever present at the edges of his vision._

_Someone ran at him. Their teeth were bared with fury. He could hardly focus on them. His eyes kept shifting past them, over their shoulder, to the shadow he could see standing there. Just watching. Head tilted._

_He screamed his outrage and swung his sword. The shadow disappeared, becoming black hands that reached around him from behind. They pulled him off balance. They dragged him down. They crawled over his torso and kept him pinned right up until the blade sank into his chest._

Ryan heaved upright, gasping hard enough to choke. He felt like he’d surfaced from being underwater. Coughing and hacking, he could feel liquid in his lungs fighting to get out. He jerked and seized at the blankets.

Ryan tumbled off of the bed. There was a horrible, burning pain in his chest. Shaking hands reached out, fumbling until he found a pot and immediately retched into it. 

After his gagging settled down, Ryan slumped against the side of the bed. His head was spinning. Fingers fumbling, he grabbed at his shirt and tore it open. He ran his hands over his chest, half-expecting it to be bloody. It was almost a shock to find himself intact. 

Slowly, Ryan lowered his hands. Put his head between his knees and breathed.

Just a dream. A shockingly real dream, but a nightmare nonetheless. There was nothing to be afraid of.

After a few minutes to calm his shivering, Ryan pushed himself upright and went to the wash basin. He wiped the sweat from his face. Cooled the back of his neck. Feeling a lot more put together, he looked up at himself in the mirror.

There was something on his chest. Frowning, he pulled the torn edges of his shirt aside, revealing jagged, discoloured skin. There was a deep scar beneath his heart. It was a few inches wide and quite thin. Like he’d cut himself. Or been stabbed.

Ryan’s eyes lifted from the scar. 

There was somebody standing behind him. 

He shoved away from the mirror, swearing in alarm. Ryan grabbed his razor from beside the basin and whirled around with the blade raised. What he saw made his blood turn to ice.

The thing before him couldn’t be called a person. It was human shaped, but without any colour or detail. A living shadow. A void, come alive. It stared at Ryan. Or so he assumed, it wasn’t like the thing had eyes, but he could feel its gaze like a physical weight. It was oppressive, and filled him with dread.

It reached up a shadowy hand. Touched its own chest. Ryan felt his scar ache in response. His free hand pressed against it, the one holding the blade out beginning to tremble.

“What are you?” he demanded, forcing some strength into his tone. “Leave this place, demon!”

It just looked at him. The pain in his chest grew, building and burning through his body like fire. It seared its way along his veins until he had to drop the razor. His knees hit the floor. He gasped and shuddered and tried to find the sword in his chest, tried to yank it free, but there was nothing there, nothing-

 

Ryan hadn’t slept properly in several weeks. It showed. There were dark shadows under his eyes and a haggard look to his face. Every action he made was laced with exhaustion. He found it very difficult to focus on what the people of his court were saying.

People had expressed concern. Only a few, and only in the beginning, before he got so frustrated that he snapped at them. They didn’t understand that he _tried_. Every night his dreams were filled with torment. His waking hours weren’t much better.

A shadow lurked by his throne. It followed him everywhere. Never made a sound, but no matter how far he went to try to outrun it, or deter it, it never left. He could not shake it anymore than he could lose his own shadow. 

Ryan was very, very tired.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, bone weary.

“My King?”

“I don’t _care!_ ” he snapped, startling the man talking to him. They were always coming to him with their problems. God, couldn’t they see that he was busy? Couldn’t they solve these problems themselves? Did he have to manage every detail of every life in this kingdom?

“Your majesty-”

He cut them off with a swipe of his hand. “I don’t care what you do. Just get out of my sight. Everybody leave!”

People left the throne room in a hurry. Ryan ignored the anxious looks shot his way. Instead he tore off his crown and, with a roar, flung it as hard as he could at the silhouette.

“Why won’t you leave me?” he shouted at the top of his lungs, uncaring of who heard. “What do I have to do!”

He raged and screamed and threw things. Nothing touched the shadow. It simply stood there, invincible to his wrath, and watched him burn himself out. Ryan ended up on his knees before the throne.

“Ramsey,” he said hoarsely. “I know it’s you. Why do you torment me? I only did what was right. Surely even your spirit can recognise that.”

The shadow remained. Unmoving and unaffected.

Ryan sighed and buried his head in his hands.

 

The first time someone tried to kill him was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over him. If it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of his guards, Ryan would have been stabbed in the back with a butcher’s knife.

A butcher. A simple man, one of Ryan’s own people. As Michael hauled Ryan away to safety, he felt a numbness spread through him from the shock. He couldn’t get the visual out of his head. The man had run at him with such fury in his eyes. Such hatred. 

He followed Michael blindly, and the last he saw the butcher, the shadow man was standing beside him.

Many more attempts followed. One of his cooks tried to poison him, but Ryan had stopped eating. An assassin crept into his chambers at night, but the King had long since given up on sleep. His lack of self-care was, ironically, keeping him alive. He saw his shadow in each of his attempted murderers. There was no doubt in his mind that they would continue.

He took to drinking heavily. It was the only way to dull his senses to his constant stalker. Otherwise he would spend the entire day in a state of instinctive panic. There was no way to relax, knowing it was nearby. No way to sleep with its eyes on him.

“Get out!” he screamed at the next person who tried to ask after him. He threw his bottle at the wall. It shattered too close to one of the lit torches and half the throne room caught fire. Ryan stormed away from the flames, furious at how his shadow could stand in the centre of them without flinching.

There had to be an end to this curse. But Ryan couldn’t see it.

And then his negligence went too far.

It was Michael that stormed his chambers. His very own captain who grappled the bottle away from him and dragged him from the castle by his collar. Ryan barely struggled. 

He was flung onto the ground before his people. Not a single one of them moved to help him. Ryan lifted his head weakly and found only disgust in their eyes. He looked up.

“Michael…”

The man’s eyes were practically ablaze with fury.

“You’re not the man I thought you were,” he spat. “My boy is dead because of you. Because you wouldn’t help him when he came to you. That’s your _duty._ You were meant to be our King! But you’re just as mad as Ramsey was. Maybe even worse.”

Somebody finally stepped out from the crowd. But they didn’t look at Ryan. Instead they brought Michael an axe and held it out. He took it, his expression thunderous.

“I do this for my people,” Michael said, words biting. The familiarity rang in Ryan’s ears, and suddenly he was back on the battlefield. A cacophony of war filled his mind, clear even months later. He hadn’t been allowed to forget that day for even a second since.

Shadowy hands reached out and cradled his head. It was the first time it had touched him, and the hands were gentle. Ramsey knelt before him and held his chin up. Held him steady. Michael raised the axe over his head, jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan breathed, and it wasn’t just him saying it. It was also Ramsey, and the man he had killed, and the person before that. A long line of shadowy figures stretched out before Ryan. Each of them having passed on their curse through bloodshed. It was like a disease, and after this, it would no doubt find its way to Michael.

Ryan felt sorry for him. But he was also struck with an all-consuming, heart-shattering _relief._

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and the axe came down.


	20. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Forest Let's Play's are some of my favourites, and this is based kinda on an AU of mine.  
> Which MEANS check the tags. They're cannibals Harold.

Ryan opened his eyes to darkness.

He couldn’t see a thing, and the blindness, paired with the splitting headache he had, made his breath come short. His arms were pulled taught above him. His legs kicked in empty air. 

Ryan panicked, twisting uselessly at whatever was keeping him suspended by his wrists. It felt like rough rope and left his skin feeling raw. Where was he? How long had he been here?

He fought to control his breathing and think. Slowly he calmed down enough for the memories to return to him. Their plane had crashed on an island, he knew that much. A few of them had survived. They’d made a camp with what they could scavenge, and Ryan had been worried about the noises he heard coming from the trees…

Ryan wasn’t an idiot. He knew they weren’t alone on this island. They’d found effigies and skulls picked clean by something other than nature. They knew by now to stay away from the cave, even if they had yet to truly witness the horrors within.

It struck him suddenly where he was. Immediately he started twisting against the ropes again, straining his ears to hear any sound in the darkness. He didn’t dare call out. If whoever had captured him had left him alone for now, he wasn’t about to call attention to himself. 

He felt unpleasantly vulnerable. Like a piece of jerky strung up until it was ready. Confident that he was alone, Ryan began kicking, trying to flip his legs up to wrap around whatever rope was binding his wrists. For a few minutes the sounds of huffing and panting filled the silence. 

Eventually he slumped. It didn’t matter how hard he strained, he didn’t have the core strength, or the flexibility. Especially given how tired and achy he felt. Instead he started to swing himself. Back and forth, building momentum, until finally he swung too far and heard a snap.

His shoulder hit the ground first and he yelped at the pain. The sound echoed. Ryan clapped his hands over his mouth, almost crying out again at how much the sudden movement hurt. Somewhere in the distance he heard a snarled noise. Then footsteps rushing towards him.

Ryan shoved himself to his feet, heart in his throat. He bumped into something heavy. It swung from the impact. Trying not to think too hard about the softness of the shape, he stumbled and felt his way through more hanging obstacles until he found himself in an empty space. Behind him, the sounds approached, growing louder. A faint flicker of light spilled into the cavern.

Ryan turned tail and fled into the darkness.

 

It was dark, and Ryan was cold.

He quickly learned, however, that warmth and light were dangerous things to long for. Catching the flash of a torch or spotting the warm glow of a fire made his heart clench with fear. They were almost always followed by footsteps. 

Ryan would see brightness, and immediately curl himself into the tightest nook he could find. Shadows would race by him. They chattered to each other, laughed and snarled, completely unaware of Ryan as he hid mere feet away from them. He would wait and hold his breath until they passed. Leaving him in darkness once more.

He crept his way through stone tunnels. Without any light to see by, his progress was agonisingly slow. His hands slid over the walls. He felt his way through twists and turns. Now and then he would hide, trembling in the dark. It was impossible to tell if he was making progress or just going in circles.

Once he fell into a pool of water. Just like that, he went from walking to drowning mid-step. He twisted in the darkness. It was impossible to tell which way was up. There were dim lights like glowing eyes in the water but he could not tell if they were above or below him. Frightened, he kicked away from them.

It was pure luck that his thrashing ended with him bumping against stone. His hands clawed their way up until he felt air on his skin. Ryan scrambled out of the water. Like a drowning cat he frantically scratched his way free, trying to quieten his gasps before they got him into trouble. 

He wanted to lay down and die, right there. But he was so afraid of falling in again. Ryan got to his feet and hurried away from the pool, terrified that every step would send him back in. He kept close to the wall. The turns he took left him with no memory of which direction he was heading. With any luck, it was away.

All the while he shivered. There was nothing he wanted more than to be out of this cold, damp nothingness. But when he saw fire, when he sensed warmth, he headed the other way as fast as he could.

 

It was dark, and Ryan was _hungry_. 

He had been lucky enough to find wrapped chocolate bars, but only once. Scarfing them down had only pointed out how empty his stomach had been. His hunger, long since repressed by fear, came roaring to the surface. Suddenly it was all he could think about. 

He searched every cave he came across but never found another goldmine like it. Ryan wished now that he’d thought to ration the chocolate. But it wouldn’t have lasted long even then.

After so long in the dark Ryan had grown accustomed to seeing without his eyes. His other senses felt heightened. Things he was used to ignoring, because they were irrelevant when he could just take it in visually, were now at the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t noticed the smell when he woke up. The taste of mould and dirt and rot in the back of his throat. He certainly didn’t remember hearing the faint skittering of rats.

He heard them now. Involuntarily his head would twitch in the direction of the sounds. At first he had hid, unable to differentiate between critters and cannibals. But now he knew better. Now he knew the noises belonged to something small and juicy, and it made his mouth water.

He caught one and sank his teeth into it purely on instinct. By the time his brain caught up with him, the thing had stopped wriggling in his hands. Immediately he spat out his mouthful. Ryan blindly threw the creature away and hunched over for a few minutes, gagging. Warm copper coated his tongue. He felt sick to his stomach.

His belly rumbled unhappily. Breathing in the dark, Ryan felt his disgust turn to dread. 

If he didn't eat something soon, he wouldn’t be able to keep going. He might die here, alone in the dark. How long would it be before somebody found his body? Probably not long enough. Ryan hadn’t forgotten that there were more than just rats in this maze of tunnels. None of them would think twice about turning him into a meal. Alive or dead.

The next time Ryan caught a rat, he didn’t spit it out.

 

 

It was dark, and Ryan was lost. 

He couldn’t remember how sunlight felt on his skin. What water tasted like when it wasn’t being sucked off of cave walls. It hurt to try and recall these things. Most of the time he didn’t.

The twists and turns were still a mystery to him. He had lost hope of finding a way out, and what was worse, he was forgetting his reasons for wanting to. It had been so long. All he thought about day to day was surviving. He ran. He hid. He fed. 

Ryan lost time like he’d lost everything else. He left a piece of himself behind with every step he took, like a trail of breadcrumbs to find his way back. Nevermind that he couldn’t quite remember what he’d be coming back to. 

There were no rats here. He crouched and listened, a silent predator. His mouth watered and his belly growled. There were less footsteps in this part of the cave, but Ryan suspected he had hunted the last of the rats. He hadn’t eaten in days. Bats still screeched and flew over his head somewhere, but they were far more difficult to catch. He’d only managed it once. 

Dissatisfied, he padded quietly through the darkness, sniffing. There was a stale smell of water that told him to tread carefully. Something more smokey. Was there a fire nearby, or explosives? One was far more dangerous than the other, and it wasn’t the explosives.

He tripped. Ryan landed face first, caught completely off guard. For a moment he just curled up into a ball and stayed still. The key to survival was silence. If they couldn’t hear him, they couldn’t find him, and so silence had become his instinctual response to any kind of surprise. 

But nothing attacked him. Nothing jumped out. Letting out a breath, Ryan shuffled forward a little. His hands roamed along the floor inquisitively. Eventually his fingers bumped up against something soft. He leant down and gave it a cautious sniff. Immediately his mouth watered. It felt tender and meaty like the rats, and smelled a lot like their fur.

Ryan crouched over it and dug in. Juices spilled down his chin and he almost moaned as his hunger was finally sated. Eyes open and unseeing, he stared into the dark and tore the thing apart, eating without thinking. He was too tired to think. Too hungry. 

He was so engrossed in his meal that he didn’t notice the shadow on the wall until it was too late. 

A flicker of movement caught his eye and Ryan’s head snapped up. Almost immediately he stiffened. Nothing should catch his eye. If he could see, that meant there was light, and light meant danger. Instinctively Ryan grabbed his meal and scrambled backwards, dragging it along the floor with him. It had been a miraculous find. He was unwilling to let it go so easily.

Too late. Torchlight filled the cavern. Ryan stopped dragging the corpse and instead hunched down behind it, like he could hide. He bared his teeth and hissed. The sound tore out of his throat unbidden, primal and vicious.

“ _Ryan?_ ”

And Ryan...stopped. Everything stopped. The snarl died in his throat, and he blinked. Slowly, sluggishly, the cogs in his head kicked into gear, fighting to form thoughts that he had buried a long time ago. A fiery torch cast its light over him, and Ryan flinched. It wasn’t just learned instinct. The light burned. His skin felt hot and he felt more blind in this sudden brightness than he had been for weeks in the dark.

He brought a hand up to shield his eyes. Squinting through it, Ryan tried to parse out the shapes before him. Somebody had called his name. He was sure of it.

There were people before him, but they looked nothing like the cannibals he had had been hiding from all this time. The one in front had a long, unkempt beard. A woman and man stood just behind him, holding each other for comfort. All of them looked down on him with something like horror. 

Ryan parted cracked lips. He tried to form words, but had to give it several attempts before anything came out. Even then, his voice was scratchy and weak from disuse.

“...Jack?”

Ryan was...confused. His brain couldn’t comprehend them being there. They didn’t belong in this world. They didn’t belong to the dark. 

Neither did Ryan, really, but the version of himself that he had become to survive did, and now the two were forced to meet, and he was struggling. Their edges were too jagged. They didn’t fit together neatly. Ryan sat limply and tried to remember the part of him that didn’t eat rats, didn’t seek out cracks in the wall to sleep safely. He couldn’t remember where he’d left that piece of him. 

“Oh my god,” the woman, Lindsay, said, and they all took a step back. Ryan blinked. Followed their gaze down.

His hand was still gripping soft meat. But it wasn’t fur that his fingers were entangled in, it was clothing. The lifeless eyes staring up at him didn’t belong to a rat, but worse than that, they were suddenly, horribly familiar.

Ryan felt the blood dripping down his chin. Shifted around the morsel still in his mouth a few times. He looked up at the group, chewing thoughtfully, and then swallowed.

The torch fell and plunged them all into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. Needs more Gavin. Tomorrow!


	21. Disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Gavin is a prick, and Ryan has an aesthetic. What else is new.

There was something off about the new guy.

Maybe it was the fact that he called himself The Vagabond. You didn't see anybody else in the crew running around with stupid nicknames. Except Jeremy, but at least that was funny. And they still knew Rimmy Tim’s real name. He didn’t keep up the persona all day long, seven days a week. Unlike the new hire. Gavin was half convinced he was on the run from somebody.

Or it could have been the weird knife kink. Why use thumbtacks when you could pin your heist plans to the wall from across the room. Gavin had walked into the office one day only to shriek and fling himself backwards. A throwing knife went sailing past his nose. The Vagabond had just smirked and tossed a second blade up and down in his hand.

Or at least, Gavin assumed he smirked. It was hard to tell, which brought him to the biggest problem of all.

The Vagabond never showed his face. Even in the safety of the penthouse he constantly wore a great big skull mask that covered his entire head. The rest of the crew grumbled about it, but none of them seemed as bothered as Gavin felt. He’d tried everything. Tricks, needling, and had even, in a moment of sheer lunacy, attempted to swat it off the man’s head. 

Nothing had worked. The Vagabond had caught him by the wrist mid-swipe. Gavin had been pinned with steely blue eyes, the grip on his arm uncomfortably tight. For a moment his heart stopped beating. 

Then Michael had cracked up laughing, and the tension shattered. The Vagabond released him, and Gavin had slunk away with his tail between his legs. Honestly he should have been grateful the madman didn’t stab him. Reason number two might not have been at the top of his list of worries, but it was still pretty fucking concerning. 

Eventually he couldn’t take it any longer. He’d run background checks and found nothing. He’d tried to tail the man home and been led on a merry chase around the city that ended with Gavin getting cornered and pinned up against a wall. He’d even complained to Geoff about it. But his boss waved him away.

“He can wear a rubber chicken suit for all I care,” he told Gavin. “So long as he doesn’t point those knives my way.”

Gavin suspected he was just as nervous about Vagabond. And why shouldn’t he be? As far as Gavin was concerned only superheroes and serial killers wore masks during their downtime, and they sure as hell weren’t heroes.

It came to a head after a job that had gone messy. Vagabond returned from it with a generous amount of blood splattered across the front of his skull mask. It had to reek. There was no way it didn’t cover half of his face beneath the mask as well, and Gavin waited with bated breath for him to remove it.

“Here V,” Jeremy said, tossing him a towel. The man caught it with a grunted thanks and began to wipe his face clean.

Gavin snapped.

“That’s not his name!”

He hadn’t meant to shout it. The room fell deadly quiet and all eyes landed on him. Vagabond stood very still, blood still smearing the skull’s teeth. 

Jeremy frowned. “What the hell are you on about Gav?”

He took a deep breath. “That’s not his name. We don’t know what his name is. Is nobody else worried about that?”

“Gavin,” warned Geoff, but Gavin talked over him.

“You won’t tell us your name, you won’t show us your _face_. Who the fuck are you!” he whirled towards the Vagabond, who met his gaze without unflinching.

Gavin stabbed a finger at him, blood thumping in his ears. Somewhere distant he recognised that he was almost as scared as he was frustrated. This was the man he had been trying so hard not to piss off, and now…

“Take off your mask,” he heard himself say. “Take it off, or I’m leaving the crew.”

“Gavin!” Michael objected, dismayed. Gavin bit his lip but stood his ground. He didn’t trust Vagabond. He was sick of being nervous around him all the time. This was his family first, for Christ’s sake. If anybody had to leave, it should be Vagabond, why couldn't the others see that?

“V,” said Jeremy, and when had they given their pet mercenary a nickname? “You don’t have to.”

And the Vagabond...reached up. He closed his hand around the skull, and slipped it easily from his head. Dark black hair spilled from beneath it in a ponytail. Gavin stood frozen in shock as icy blue eyes were revealed, along with a square jaw, and-

Another mask. More specifically, a layer of black and white face paint shaped like a skull. 

He smiled at Gavin, lips stretched into a wide, wild grin. 

“I am the Vagabond,” he said, voice no longer muffled. “But you can call me Ryan.”

 

Gavin sulked.

Predictably, the rest of the crew had lost their shit at the reveal, and bounced between teasing Gavin for being so dramatic and yelling at Ryan for adding yet another layer of creepy to his persona. Gavin beat a hasty retreat. He didn’t like the way the Vagabond- Ryan- kept looking at him, expression almost predatory.

Gavin kind of wished he’d left the mask on now.

But it didn’t matter. This hadn’t changed anything. Sure, they had a name, but Gavin still couldn’t find any info on him. For all they knew he’d made it up on the spot. They still hadn’t seen his face. But the others all laughed and acted as if everything had been solved.

Gavin didn’t leave the crew, but he also wasn't satisfied.

 

 

“But Micoo-”

“God, you’re such a pissbaby. Why do you even care?” 

“Because!” Gavin insisted while Michael cleaned his gun. “Because we’re supposed to be a crew! We’re meant to be able to trust each other, and we don’t know anything about Vagabond!”

“I know plenty about Ryan,” he objected. “He has an unhealthy obsession with Diet Coke and absolutely zero common sense. Great guy.”

“But where did he come from? What is his last name? Who did he work for before us? What the fuck does his _face_ look like?”

“Why don’t you just fucking ask him?” Michael nodded over his shoulder.

Gavin froze.

“Yes Gavin,” said a voice from behind him. “Why don’t you just ask.”

Slowly, like if he moved too quickly he would be pounced on, Gavin turned around. Vagabond lounged in the doorway to the armoury, arms crossed. It was hard to tell his expression with his face covered in paint, but his eyes were bright with something like amusement. Or a dare.

Gavin bristled. Pushed his shoulders back.

“Take off your mask,” he ordered.

And the man reached up. He ran a rough hand down his face, and for a moment the paint smeared together in a gruesome pattern, like a Rorschach test. Then Michael tossed him a cloth and he took a minute to rub at the paint. His hands dropped.

Gavin ran greedy eyes over him, trying to find evidence for all the horrible things he’d thought about the man. But the lack of paint only revealed a crooked nose, and some facial hair. Without the striking skull features, his face looked softer. If this had been the man that they hired in the beginning, Gavin couldn’t imagine being scared of him.

His shoulders slumped. Gavin was floored. Was that really it? All this time he had been burning through conspiracy theories, and he could have just asked?

Vagabond- _Ryan_ tossed the cloth away, looking Gavin up and down.

“My last name is Haywood,” he said. “I grew up in Georgia, and I used to be a model. But I don’t see why you need to know my entire life story to work with me. You’ve never caught me following you home, so really, what’s the problem here?”

“You followed him home?” Michael asked, incredulous. Gavin shrank in on himself.

“He tried,” said Ryan. “Water under the bridge.”

“It’s not though.” God, Michael looked disappointed in Gavin, and that was even worse than Ryan’s ire. “Gav, you can’t expect people to trust you unless you give them a little in return. Quit being such a jackass.”

He felt shrivelled and embarrassed. It took effort to look Ryan in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin mumbled, kicking the floor. “I won’t stalk you anymore.”

“Or put any buckets of water over my door,” Ryan prompted.

“Or put anymore buckets,” he repeated miserably.

Ryan grinned. “The paint’s waterproof anyway. Wouldn’t have worked.”

Gavin relaxed slightly, rubbing at his arm. At least it didn’t seem like the man was angry. Michael watched them for a minute longer before turning back to his weapon polishing.

“Okay, go suck dicks somewhere else. Some of us have work to do.”

 

 

Gavin avoided Ryan for a while. To be fair, he’d avoided the man before, too, but now it was less out of fear and more due to embarrassment. At least the man had taken it well. He still bounced between the mask and the facepaint, but sometimes, very rarely, Gavin would catch a glimpse of his face when he was talking to somebody. 

One day Gavin was making a snack in Geoff’s kitchen when he turned around and saw Ryan standing behind him. He let out a high pitched shriek and almost dropped his toast.

“Christ alive!” he yelped. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Ryan was maskless and paintless, and held up a Coke can as a response. He rattled it against his fingernails to show that it was empty. 

“Right,” Gavin said, willing his heart to calm down. He stepped out of the way so that the man could get to the fridge. To his surprise, Ryan didn’t move. Just stared like he was waiting for something.

“What?” 

Ryan smiled at him.

“What?” he asked again, a little suspiciously.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Ryan said. 

“Ask what?”

That grin widened, and a shiver went down Gavin’s spine for reasons he didn’t understand.

“Ask me to take my mask off,” Ryan told him. 

Gavin huffed. “Ha. You’re hilarious. Yes, I was a knobhead, can we let it go?”

“Do it.”

Gavin went quiet at his tone. His skin crawled beneath the Vagabond’s unblinking gaze. He swallowed.

“Take your mask off,” he said quietly.

And Ryan.

Reached up.

And fisted his fingers in his hair and pulled and the skin came with it, smile peeling away and eyes popping free of their sockets and teeth splitting into shards just like Gavin’s brain was doing and beneath it all- beneath it-

His plate hit the floor and shattered.

 

 

Michael came into the kitchen to find Ryan at the table, munching on some toast.

“Hey, have you seen Gavin?”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Ryan replied around a mouthful of food.

Michael frowned. “Still? He’s been locked in there for over an hour.”

“I think he might be sick. Or crying.”

“Gavin, crying? Nah, he’s probably hungover as hell. Boi can’t hold his liquor.”

Ryan hummed. Michael stared at him until he paused, mouth held open in mid-bite.

“Yes Michael?”

“God, it’s so weird looking at you without any mask.” He shook his head, disturbed.

Ryan’s head tilted. “If you don’t like my face, I can get another one.”

“Yeah, sure buddy. Put your paint back on, your baby face is freaking me out.”

Michael left Ryan alone. From the bathroom he could hear the sounds of soft, strained whimpering. 

Ryan grinned wickedly and took another bite of his toast.


	22. Shiver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS! Not super graphic but still, check the warnings if you haven't been following along.

“For the record,” said Jack, “This is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault!” Ryan protested, squeezing through the crack in the stone behind him. Outside, icy winds swirled and shredded their skin, but inside the tiny cave they found the air was still. No less cold, however.

“We don’t need to stop,” Jack said, in a poor imitation of Ryan’s voice. “We’ll make it to the top of the mountain before the storm hits!”

“That’s not what I said!”

With frozen fingers they fumbled off their packs, tossing climbing gear hazardously around the cramped space. Ryan huffed on his fingertips. Jack tried to open a thermos with shaking hands.

“Besides,” Ryan said through chattering teeth, “We would have been stuck in the storm either way. At least this way we had a chance of finding shelter before it hit.”

“We didn’t, though,” Jack pointed out.

“Yeah, I _know,_ Jack.”

He watched, bristling, as the other man tried to steady his hands long enough to take a swig out of his thermos. Immediately his face fell. Ryan’s heart sank in response.

“It’s empty, isn’t it,” he guessed, and Jack sent him a guilty look. 

“Yeah. Empty and cold. Sorry, Ry.”

He shrugged, and the action felt awkward from how hard he was shivering.

“Nothing to do but try and wait it out.”

Jack sighed and tossed the thermos away. He took a seat a few feet away from him. Ryan went to lean back against the cave wall and immediately sucked in a breath at how cold it was, snapping upright again.

“We should hug,” said Jack. “For warmth.”

Blue lips twitched up in a smile. “You know it works better naked.”

Jack grimaced, shoving at Ryan with his foot.

“I changed my mind, I’d rather die, do not come near me you weirdo. Speaking of, if I die, I forbid you from eating me. Just to set the record straight ahead of time.”

“Rude,” Ryan said, mock-hurt. “I’d let you eat me!”

“Do not eat me and keep your dick on your side of the cave, Ryan Haywood, or so help me God.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t eat you.”

“You better not.” 

They fell silent. The only noise was the howling storm outside and the constant cracking of ice. The sound of shifting snow sounded much louder from within the cave. It rumbled around them ominously. 

“I don’t know why you’re cranky at me,” Ryan said, a little sulkily. “It wasn’t my idea to climb this stupid mountain.”

Jack threw snow at him.

 

 

Ryan shivered. It was so cold. The winds had grown quieter, but still not enough to venture outside. No matter how much the cave felt like an icebox, the world beyond had to be much worse.

Although right now, he couldn’t imagine it. Nothing could be worse than this. The tremors that racked his body made it hard to see straight, eyelids sticking together and fingers unable to straighten out of their frozen claws. There was no way to make a fire. No way to get warmth, and their clothes were still sodden with sleet.

In the darkness, they reached out to each other. Moved with desperate and clutching actions as they wrapped tightly around one another. Eventually clothes were abandoned too. There was no room for modesty when all they could think about was how cold they both were. 

Ryan could no longer feel his toes. He weakly kicked his wet boots further away, disgusted by their chill, and clung even tighter to Jack. The man dragged him closer in return. For a brief minute, there was relief, as skin pressed together and staved off the worst of the cool air.

They huddled together and shuddered.

 

 

Jack kept Ryan warm long after he stopped shivering. Ryan coiled tighter around him, even as his body cooled. Someone would have to pry him away with a crowbar. The cavern air was icy and unforgiving, but Jack…

Jack was so _big._ Even bigger than Ryan. He thought that if he tried hard enough, he could curl up inside the man’s rib cage.

It was a tight fit. Delirious with cold, Ryan tore at anything in the way, yanking harshly until he heard something snap. Then he buried into the warmth revealed to him. Twisted and shoved and squeezed until it was all around him. He sighed happily. 

Warmth washed over him. He could feel Jack surrounding him. The most perfect winter coat.

Ryan snuggled in against something squishy like a pillow, and felt his tremors ease.

 

 

Jack went cold. And when Jack went cold, so did Ryan. He could not go any deeper, could not wrap himself up any tighter in his skin. The shivers returned like a bad dream. They drove him to his feet, out of the cave and out of his mind.

The wind didn’t tear at him but it was still cold. Snowflakes landed on his skin and almost burned, but not in the way he wanted. Ryan would have swallowed fire. He would have embraced the sun. Anything to melt the ice off his bones. 

He moved like a zombie, lurching and jerking. It felt better to move. His blood pumped sluggishly, but it wasn’t enough. He forced himself to go faster, half running, half stumbling, and it eased some pains but accentuated others. Ryan’s feet were blistered but numb and he barely felt the snow as he waded through it. Every time he fell into it, another layer of red peeled off of him, until he was almost clean again. Clean, but freezing, and trailing bloody footprints. 

He thought back to the cave and the shelter of bones and mass he had left behind. He longed for it. Ryan hadn’t even thought to put his clothes back on, too desperate to find a replacement to wrap around himself until his skin stopped shaking. He needed something warmer than cloth. 

Somewhere in the trees, he heard a sound. Ryan stopped. He listened, feeling his blood cool in response to his stillness and shuddering viciously.

Then he heard it again. A shout. It sounded like someone was in trouble.

Ryan took off towards the noise. His left leg threatened to give out on him, and a couple of times he fell. Whenever he stumbled he would just push onwards on all fours until he was able to right himself. His blood roared in his ears. He panted, lungs constricting.

The screaming grew louder until finally he came to a cliff edge. There was a younger man dangling from it, clutching desperately at a rotted tree branch.

“Help!” he cried when he spotted Ryan. “Please help me!”

The branch let out a loud snap and he dropped another inch. Ryan dove for him. He snatched the collar of his coat with frozen fingers and scrambled backwards, hauling him back over the edge. The stranger whimpered and clawed at the snow until he was back on safe ground.

Ryan lay in the snow and shivered.

“Shit,” said the man shakily. “Thank you.”

He turned to Ryan and his eyes bulged. They flicked up and down his frame.

“Oh God, you’re naked!” he blurted. He shook his head briskly. “You must be freezing!”

The man got to his feet and quickly shucked off a layer, holding it out to Ryan. He felt too frozen to move. The man gingerly draped it across his lap for him. Then he extended a hand. To help him up, maybe? Ryan wasn’t sure he could stand. Now that he’d stopped moving, it was like the ice in his veins had turned to shards. He was worried if he moved too quickly they would splinter.

“I’m Jeremy,” said the man, face still flushed from his scare. “Thanks for saving me.”

Ryan reacted instinctively, forcing a trembling hand up to grasp Jeremy’s. Folding his fingers was too much effort, but he felt the man wrap his own around his hand anyway and-

It was so, _wonderfully_ warm.

Jeremy frowned at him. “You don’t look so good. Can you move? No, well- that’s fine then, just stay here and I’ll be back with help as quick as I can. I heard Michael shouting for me, he can’t be too far away. We can carry you together.”

He let go of Ryan’s hand, and a flash of panic raced through him. Jeremy quickly grabbed a thermos from his backpack and set it down next to him.

“Drink that, stay warm, I’ll be right back.”

He made it only a few steps before Ryan was on his feet. Spurred by need, he reached past the thermos, curled his hands around a rock, and brought it down on Jeremy’s head.

The man cried out and twisted as he fell, trying to keep Ryan at bay. But he was dazed from the first blow. His struggles were too uncoordinated as Ryan tumbled on top of him, pinning him down with his weight. He screamed, but it fell on deaf ears.

This one was not as big as Jack. But he was warm, wrapped in layers that kept that toasty heat safe, and without thinking Ryan lifted the rock and struck down again and again until the stranger stopped moving. Then a few more times for good measure.

Blood gushed from his head. It spilled over Ryan’s hands and he scooped it up, relishing the heat. He poured that delicious warmth down his throat so it would soothe him from the inside. It leaked down his chin and stained his chest. He groaned, almost swaying with ecstasy. A shudder raced through him, chasing away the cold, as Ryan clawed off the man’s jacket to get at more of that heat.

“Jeremy! Jeremy- what the _fuck!_ ”

Ryan raised his head, blinking slow and sluggish. A curly-haired man skidded to a halt in the snow. A complex cocktail of emotions flew across his face, fear, horror, fury.

“ _You sick fuck!_ ” 

He pulled something from his back that glinted gunmetal grey and before Ryan could process what he held, a shot split the air. Birds startled from their trees. The mountain trembled from the echo. 

Ryan fell backwards, mind shutting off. There was a fire in his chest that burned, so hot that it brought tears to his eyes. He reached his hands up and swept them over his torso. Blood covered his hands, staining the snow around him. 

He couldn’t feel the frost. Only heat ravaging the edges of the hole in his chest. Ryan smiled and curled his arms around himself to keep the fire inside of him. A sound almost like a purr of satisfaction rumbled out of his ruined chest. He gave one last shiver, then stopped. 

Without even feeling it, Ryan went cold.


	23. Apparition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I would write a Sorta-themed month without my best girl did you?

Ryan levelled his eye with the scope of his weapon. Through it he could make out his target. Some smarmy asshole in a business suit threw his head back and laughed, and even from this distance he could tell it was fake. People like him didn’t really laugh unless it was at somebody else’s expense.

Didn’t matter. He certainly wouldn’t be laughing anymore.

His finger settled on the trigger. He let out his breath slowly, feeling his heart rate slow.

“Don’t miss.”

“Shh,” he said to the spectre lounging next to him on the rooftop. She stirred, brushing translucent fingers through her hair flippantly.

“Just trying to help.”

“Thank you Meg, I’ve got it.”

He sensed more than saw her roll her eyes. Time to hurry this up. He knew from experience that if he took too long she would start waving her hand in front of the scope. Who knew visions could get bored? It was more likely that Ryan was projecting. These kinds of jobs just weren’t all that interesting.

A squeeze of the trigger, a near-silent pop and some distant screams later, Ryan was packing up to head home. He climbed down the fire escape with his case slung across his back. His feet hit the ground and immediately Meg was by his side.

“Movie tonight?” she asked, walking beside him. They came across a puddle and Ryan kicked water towards her, just to see the droplets pass through her form without impact. Meg twitched anyway and stuck her tongue out at him.

“Sure,” he answered her question. “You can pick.”

Meg grinned, as if she wouldn’t have gotten her way even if he had argued. 

“You know it’s not good to indulge your hallucinations.”

“But if I don’t, you’ll drive me crazy,” he said.

“More crazy, you mean. Pretty sure you’re already up there, buddy.”

“Hardy har. Quit bullying me or I’ll spend tonight with the crew instead, and then you’ll be lonely.”

“They all think you’re a madman anyway,” she shrugged off. “That’ll happen if you talk to yourself in public.”

“I can stop if you’d like.”

She snorted. “As if you could. I am a fucking delight. And anyway, I don’t mind if you want to hang out with your friends.”

“Coworkers,” he corrected.

“Coworkers, murder buddies, it's all the same. Anyway, I like Gavin, he’s cute. You should kiss him.”

Ryan tripped over himself and his companion absolutely howled with laughter.

“I don’t think he’d appreciate a kiss from me,” Ryan said after brushing himself off. Meg wiped an imaginary tear away from her eye. “And I don’t particularly want to give him one.”

“Come on, do a girl a solid!”

Ryan shook his head, a little flustered. “Movie night it is.”

She pouted, crossing her arms and kicking off the pavement to float beside him. “The least you could do is dream me up someone cute to hang out with.”

“I’m not cute enough for you? Meg, I’m crushed.”

She practically cooed at him. “Aw, baby, I don’t go for serial killers!”

They continued to bicker all the way back to Ryan’s apartment. The moment he closed the door behind him he checked the clock and headed to the bathroom. Meg trailed along behind, never more than a few feet away. She lounged across the top of the mirror and watched as Ryan pulled a bottle from the cupboard. He shook a little white pill into his hand.

“Why do you keep taking those?” she asked, when all he did was stand and look down at it. “You know they don’t work. You need a new prescription.”

“You don’t know that,” he said. “Sometimes these things take awhile.”

She sighed, one hand dropping down to hide his reflection. It didn’t work, he could see right through her. 

“But what if it gets worse, Ry? What if I turn into a big scary monster and drive you even more crazy? You need better treatment.”

“I don’t know, the current version is already pretty monstrous.” He grinned and tossed the pill into his mouth. Meg let out a gasp of outrage.

“Ryan Haywood you take that _back!_ ”

She gave him hell for the comment, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. That was the thing about having an imaginary friend. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for a grown man, and it had freaked him out at first, and he hated having to go to therapy. But in moments like these, sitting in an otherwise empty apartment watching bad action flicks and covering the carpet in butter-soaked kernels, it was almost nice.

Okay, Ryan thought as he tossed another piece of popcorn. It went right through Meg’s mouth and bounced off the coffee table, but she threw her hands up and cheered anyway. It was definitely nice. So sue him, he was a hired killer, he didn’t have a lot of friends. He didn’t care that Meg wasn’t real. She made the world a little less lonely.

Later, the television was muted and Ryan stretched out on the cushions, too tired to move to the bed. Meg lounged above him on the back of the couch. She propped her cheek on her hand and watched his eyelids droop.

“If the pills did work,” she said, “And you couldn’t see me anymore. Would you miss me?”

Ryan finally lost the fight, eyes falling shut.

“Terribly,” he mumbled.

He was asleep before he caught the pleased look on her face.

 

 

“So who’s on the menu today?” Meg asked. She was in a particularly bubbly mood, circling Ryan as he walked through a shady neighbourhood.

“I don’t _eat_ people,” Ryan defended.

“You could if you weren’t a bitch. Or if you brought a girl home.” She wiggled her eyebrows, deliberately invading his personal space until he dodged around her.

“Oh look, we’re here. Did you see that? Did you see how I changed the subject there?” 

He stepped up to the door of a warehouse he wanted to investigate. These kinds of places were great to hide out and stash things. He always wanted to know if they were free, and if not, who was in his territory that would also need need a safe house.

“You can’t ignore me forever Haywood. We will find you a date,” she warned as he went about breaking the lock off the door.

“You are the worst possible wingman ever,” he said through gritted teeth. The lock snapped off and the door swung open. “Hi, welcome to my apartment, don’t mind my roommate, she’s fake!”

“You’re such a party pooper.”

Ryan shushed her as he did a preliminary sweep of the warehouse. Really, he shouldn’t have been talking so loudly outside. If there was somebody holed up in here they likely wouldn’t appreciate his intrusion. 

Meg, thankfully, stayed quiet beside him as he checked every darkened corner. It wasn’t until his shoulders relaxed that she spoke up again.

“So, no murder today? That’s kinda boring.”

“It’s still early,” he said with a smile. Ryan headed for the door, catching Meg up in his orbit on the way out. “Let’s go check in with the crew- no,” he shut her down immediately, seeing her face light up, “Gavin won’t be there, he’s on a job today.”

“Boo,” she complained. “I wouldn’t mind a- Ryan look out!”

Startled, Ryan whirled just in time to spot somebody diving at him with a knife in their hand. He twisted, catching them in the gut. His hand snapped out to hold the blade away from him. They were alarmingly strong and seemingly unfazed by the punch to the stomach. Sweat beaded along Ryan’s forehead and he gritted his teeth.

Meg hovered around him, anxiety palpable and worse, distracting.

“Kick him!” she shouted. 

Ryan grunted and kneed the stranger in the groin, then shot a sharp kick at his kneecap. The man yelped but barely faltered. His pupils were blown wide. He hardly seemed to register Ryan’s blows, his expression wild and frenzied.

Ryan twisted away from him, reaching for his gun. In the split second he glanced down the man charged him and bore him to the ground. The gun clattered in the gutter somewhere. Ryan didn’t get a chance to see if it was in reach before the knife was stabbing down again. 

He caught the stranger’s wrist in both hands. They both strained, and distantly he heard Meg urging him on, so he pushed back and flipped them. Immediately the junkie bucked and almost threw Ryan off. In the brief moment of unbalance he felt a slice of pain in his side. A cry tore out of him.

Something clocked him in the jaw. Stars burst in his vision and Ryan went sprawling.

“Get up you idiot!” 

Somebody was crouching over him, their hands passing right through his face and shoulders. Through dazed eyes Ryan blinked up at Meg. The stranger reared up behind her, looming and ominous. The sun silhouetted him and the shape of Ryan’s gun in his hand. 

Meg spun around as he stepped forward. The gun lifted and pointed at Ryan through her head. She stayed between them, knowing it was useless, but put a hand up anyway as if to fend him off-

Her fingers sank into the man’s chest. Then her hand, then her arm, and as the stranger lurched and stumbled forward Meg leaned into him and disappeared entirely into his form. Ryan came alert very abruptly.

“Meg?” he said dumbly, jaw aching. His attacker, still towering over him, gave a harsh shudder. Then he straightened up. Moving stiffly, like a puppet with its strings tangled, he lifted his head and looked at Ryan with shock.

“Ryan…”

His eyes bulged, mouth running dry. “ _Meg?!_ ”

The man startled at his voice. His head tilted down, seeing the gun in his hands still. Then he lifted it and pressed the barrel to his temple.

Ryan flinched as the shot went off, arms coming up to shield himself from the spray of blood. It coated his jeans anyway. The body hit the ground with a sickening thud, part of the skull blown away. In its place, Meg stood, shaking. Her usually steady form flickered like static.

“Ryan…” she said to him, voice weak and terrified. “What just happened?”

They stared at each other. Blood pooled between them.

Ryan got up. And started walking home.

“Wha- Ryan!” Meg called after him, flickering again before sprinting to catch up. “Ryan, what is it? Why are you ignoring me!”

She grew more and more desperate the entire way back to the apartment. Ryan trudged with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders up to his ears. He kept his eyes forward. No matter how much Meg begged and screamed at him, he didn’t respond, ignoring her like he hadn’t since the first few days she appeared. 

God that felt like an eternity ago.

If Meg could have cried, she would have been in furious tears by the time they entered the apartment.

“Answer me you bastard!” she shouted. She punched at him, every swipe going straight through his body. It went ignored just like everything else. “Why aren’t you talking to me?”

Ryan stormed through the house, tearing off his jacket and flinging it away. Meg chased him all the way to his bedroom. The door hit the wall with a bang and bounced off. She ran right through it, and found Ryan on his knees, scrounging around under his bed.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” she raged. “Tell me what’s going on, Ryan! Why won’t you-”

He brought out a box, and the moment he opened it, Meg fell silent. 

Inside of it were photos. Newspaper clippings and selfies and family pictures. Printed out screenshots of a social media account, and even a few emails. And on every single one of them, was a picture of her face.

Gingerly Ryan pulled them from the box and arranged them on the floor. He set them out with careful fingers in an attempt not to crease any of the pages. And then, finally, he looked up and met her eyes. 

Meg stared. Slowly, she folded in on herself, sinking to the ground in front of him. The pictures lay strewn between them. She reached shaking fingers out to touch one, but of course her hand made no impact. Ryan reached out and turned it for her.

Meg studied the girl in the picture. It was her, undoubtedly. Even if she didn’t recognise her features she would have known from the deep, painful tugging in her soul.

In her _soul_. Meg didn’t have a soul. She was a figment of Ryan’s imagination, born from the mind of a madman. She had never existed before the day he lost one screw too many. 

Hadn’t she?

But here, in front of her, was undeniable proof. She _had_ existed. Meg had lived, once. She’d been a real girl, with a childhood and friends and family and a _life_. And from the looks of the pictures, it had been a happy one.

Meg couldn’t cry, but in that moment, she would have given anything to be able to.

“What is this?” she demanded, voice a tremor.

Ryan watched her carefully, like any moment she would spring at him. Or maybe he was just waiting for her to shatter like glass under this revelation. The way she felt, she just might.

He spoke quietly, “This, is Meg Turney. She was a reporter, and a model, and died when she was twenty-seven.”

Meg stared at the floor.

“I died,” she said, testing the words. Ryan’s jaw clenched, and he swallowed before nodding.

“Yes.”

“How did I die?”

But even as she asked, words were jumping out at her from the newspaper clippings. Some of them were innocent, snatches from her life and job. But more than one took a much darker turn. She spotted _attacker unknown_ , and _young woman found dead_ , and _strangled to death._

Meg dragged her eyes up. Ryan refused to meet her gaze, staring off to the side. 

“Ryan,” Meg said slowly. “ _Why_ did I die?”

And finally, tearfully, Ryan looked her in the eye. Like he owed it to her as he said what came next.

“Because you screamed.”

Meg was struck suddenly with a wave of memories. It was like reliving it all over again only in fast forward. She saw flashes of her parents, her friends, her school. Her first day at work, her cat. And then it slowed down, just slightly, as she walked back into her office after a long day at work. 

She’d forgotten something. Whatever it was didn’t seem to matter anymore when she found her boss bleeding out on the carpet, and a man standing over him looking very alarmed. Meg opened her mouth to scream.

She caught- flashes- of hands around her throat, nails clawing at his face, scream choked off, air choked off, life choked out of her, until her vision went black.

Meg jolted backwards. Up and away from the man who had killed her.

“ _You_ -” she choked, hands covering her mouth. Ryan stayed on his knees. His face was cracked with grief. How dare he grieve, when she was the one who had died. Meg wanted to hit him. She wanted to smack the tears from him. 

“You took everything from me!” she shouted. “You made me think I was a hallucination! I thought I didn’t _exist!_ ”

Of course, she thought hysterically. Of course the pills never worked. Ryan wasn’t crazy, he was an _asshole._

“To be fair,” Ryan said, “I thought you didn’t either.”

Meg bristled, and he rushed to explain.

“You just, showed up, a few days after I- You just appeared. I don’t believe in ghosts, Meg, and you didn’t remember anything, so I thought...I thought it was guilt. That I’d finally gone mad.”

“Don’t,” she cut him off. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You suspected this, I know you did. How long?”

“I-”

“ _How long,_ Haywood?”

He laughed, a little hysterically, and Meg could have murdered him in that moment.

He said, “I remember being very confused the first time you saw Gavin. I was a little worried I was subconsciously attracted to him. Kind of relieved, now, actually.”

“Oh that’s good! I’m glad that’s settled for you Ry, because I would _hate_ for you to be confused.”

His face fell. “Meg. I’m so...so sorry.”

Meg turned and ran. Straight through the wall and out of the apartment. She didn’t get further than the staircase before she felt a yank on her soul that forced her to stop. Emotion welled up in her and she crumpled. Tied to her own killer. This was her existence now.

Ryan didn’t come after her, and Meg didn’t go back in. She curled up into a ball on the steps and tried her best to weep.

 

 

The moon was high when Meg rose. On silent feet she passed through the apartment, entering the room where Ryan slept. She stood at his head for a while. He slumbered, face drawn tight and cheeks tear-stained. Meg traced her fingers down the tracks left behind.

It wasn’t fair, that he got to cry and she didn’t. It wasn’t fair that she got to see him mourn and not her family. Before, she’d never questioned why they were tied together. Now she didn’t know what to feel.

Meg lowered her hand to settle over his chest. And pushed inside.

Ryan’s eyes flew open, air gasping out of him. But he didn’t move, couldn’t, not while Meg had a hand around his heart. She stared him down. Channeled the strength that had filled her earlier that day when she had tried to protect him. When she closed her eyes she felt herself dispel and sink into Ryan.

Meg opened her eyes and breathed in.

It was a shock, and for a second she scrambled, arm flying up to her chest. The hand was large and scarred. She lifted it up to inspect it. Then Meg hauled the ill-fitting body out of the bed and towards the bathroom.

She staggered to the mirror to look at herself. Took in Ryan’s jawline, the crooked nose. She stroked a finger down his cheek, and this time she felt it, his stubble scratching at her skin. Meg braced her hands against the sink and stared into Ryan’s eyes.

He stared back. She could sense him in the back of her head. Not fighting or fearful, just watching her watch him. Meg held his gaze in the mirror for a minute before returning to the bedroom, pausing only to pocket the pill bottle on her way out.

She went through every photo. Read the articles and remembered what her life had been. She had been happy. Maybe there had been some downsides, and maybe she had been hoping to leave her job soon. But she had lived a good life. Meg had been _loved._

She went into the cupboard and fetched the bottle of alcohol Ryan kept for guests. He hadn’t had any since she’d been around, so it was full to the brim. She popped it open. The bottle opener dug into her skin. Meg slipped and cut herself. Giving the slice a cursory lick, she took a swig of the whiskey, feeling Ryan’s distaste in the back of her mind. Still, he didn’t protest.

There was a box of matches in the drawer that she pocketed. Meg returned to the bedroom and doused the entire stack of photos in alcohol. She poured it over every piece of furniture. A great puddle of it sank into the bed before the bottle emptied and she tossed it away. Then she wedged a chair under the door handle.

Ryan stayed a silent watcher, right up until the moment she lit the match. Even then, she didn’t sense any fear from him. Just quiet acceptance. Perhaps even elation. 

_Last chance to kiss Gavin_ , he offered, voice like a soft whisper through her mind.

“If he makes it to hell,” she said, staring at the flame, “I’ll kiss him myself.”

They threw the match onto the stack and watched it go up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very spooky, but to be fair trying to write these two as anything other than bickering BFF's is near-impossible.


	24. Cackle

Ryan awoke at the crack of dawn. As the first rays of the day filtered in through his window he was already on his feet and getting ready for work. His bag was packed with climbing gear, weapons and empty bags for gathering. He settled a quiver across his back. Slipped his bow over his head so the string sat across his torso.

The air was sleepy and quiet as he stepped outside. Everyone else was asleep still, and would be for some time. When they woke, the place would be filled with chatter and bustle, but by then Ryan would be long gone. 

He trekked past the houses until he reached the waterfront. There he paused and tilted his head way back. A mountain reared up ahead of him. Beyond its peak lay a plethora of resources. It was never an easy climb, but Ryan had made it many times before. 

“Do you mind?” said a disgruntled voice. “You’re scaring the fish.”

Ryan looked to his left and was surprised to see a man sitting on the ground with a fishing rod between his legs. He squinted back Ryan. A piece of grass bounced between his teeth as he chewed on it, waiting for him to move.

“Morning Geoff,” greeted Ryan. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be awake this early.”

“Yeah, well. Somebody has to take care of you folks. It’s not like anyone else does any work around here.”

Ryan fought not to roll his eyes. Here he stood, laden with packs and equipment, preparing to risk a climb that he did nearly every day just to bring back resources for their tiny town. Geoff hadn’t even put a shirt on today.

“Sure, Geoff. We’re lucky to have you.”

His opinion must have been too obvious, because Geoff’s expression turned sour.

“What’s that look for? I’m working hard here!”

Ryan scoffed. “Geoff, you’re just fishing. You do that for fun.”

“Well you go off gallivanting around for fun!”

“You think this is fun?” Ryan gestured to his equipment. He had light armour on, because if it was too heavy he wouldn’t be able to climb, but without it he risked getting caught by some skeleton’s stray arrow. “This isn’t fun, Geoff, it’s dangerous. And sweaty, and uncomfortable, and exhausting.”

“So what, you think I couldn’t do it?” Geoff demanded. He bristled up like a cat with its fur on end. When Ryan didn’t answer he tossed his fishing rod down.

“Here, I’ll prove it! I’m coming with you!”

Ryan immediately put a hand out to stop him. 

“As amusing as that would be,” he said, “You’d only get yourself killed. Stay and fish, Geoff. It’s what you’re good at.”

The fisherman grumbled to himself, watching Ryan as he walked away. He reached the base of the mountain and did a last check of his equipment. Then he took a deep breath, gripped the stone, and started to climb.

 

 

Many hours later, the sun was sinking towards the horizon and Ryan rappelled down the last few feet of the mountain. He was bone weary. His packs were laden with food and ore. He’d even found a strange glowing creature he wanted to experiment on. Ryan muffled a yawn against his hand.

“Ryan!”

He turned at the sound of Geoff calling him. The fisherman approached him gleefully, immediately reaching up to clap Ryan on the shoulder. He tilted slightly beneath the weight of his packs. Fortunately Geoff shifted his hand to steady him.

“Whoah there,” he said. “Busy day then?”

“Definitely.” Ryan kind of just wanted to go home to bed, but he shook himself awake. “And yourself? Any fish?”

Geoff shrugged, smile never faltering. “Oh I caught me a real big fish today. An absolutely huge bastard.”

Ryan waited for him to elaborate. But the man just grinned at him. Feeling uncomfortable, Ryan subtly shifted away from his hand and adjusted his packs.

“Alright, well. See you tomorrow Geoff.”

“Sweet dreams, Haywood!”

Ryan narrowed his eyes at Geoff, and even as he walked away he found himself constantly glancing over his shoulder. The fisherman just stood and waved at him. A smile stayed ever-present on his face. Brow furrowed, Ryan finally tore his gaze away and headed home.

How the man could make such a simple comment sound ominous, he would never understand.

Putting it out of his mind, Ryan stayed awake just long enough to unpack everything that he’d mined and scavenged. It had been a good haul. Then he landed face down on his bed and fell asleep.

 

 

“Testing, testing. Hello?”

Ryan startled awake. For a moment he just stared at the wall, confused by the voice he had heard in his head. It wasn’t even morning yet. His room was empty and nobody was speaking to him. With a groan, he rolled over to go back to sleep.

“Ah, it works! Rise and shine, dickhead.”

Geoff’s voice rang in his ears, alarmingly loud. Ryan bolted upright in bed. 

“What the fuck,” Ryan blurted. Sleepily he began tossing his sheets and pillows aside. He threw himself to the edge to peer under his bed upside-down. The space was empty except for a pair of shoes and his heavy armour. 

“Geoff?” he asked carefully, looking around his empty room with confusion.

“That’s me!” Ryan winced at the volume. “We’re gonna play a game today, Rybread. It’s called ‘Geoff Says.’ It’ll be fun!”

“What-”

“Geoff says- up boy! Come to daddy!”

Immediately Ryan’s muscles seized. He found himself lurching out of bed, completely against his will. Ryan fought for control all the way to the door. His limbs refused to respond to him, and a cold sweat broke out along his skin as he was puppeted out of his own house. He stumbled onto the grass outside, still in his clothes from yesterday.

Geoff stood outside, grinning like a maniac.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “This is gonna be fun.”

“Geoff, what the fuck is happening?” Ryan gasped. He tried to reach up and was struck with relief when he could move his arms once again. Then Geoff spoke up, and his voice echoed inside and out of Ryan’s head.

“Geoff says _sit_.”

Ryan hit the ground before he registered the command. His legs just gave out beneath him. He sat on his ass and blinked, startled. When he tried to stand up, he found he was pinned to the grass. His legs didn’t so much as twitch.

“Okay, here’s how this is gonna go,” Geoff said, walking to stand over Ryan. He craned his head back to look up at the man. There was a dreadful pit in his stomach.

Geoff cackled, the sound snapping in Ryan’s ears and making him flinch.

“Don’t look so scared! What, are you gonna cry? You know who cries? Babies. And the way you were talking yesterday, you’re a big tough guy, aren’t ya?”

“Geoff if you put a curse on me I swear-”

“Oh my God, can you let me finish my monologue! This is the problem, Ryan. No respect! So what’s going to happen, is you’re gonna go about your business, but you’re going to do it the Geoff way. So grab your stuff and meet me at the water in two minutes.”

“Two minutes-?” Ryan was yanked upright and sent sprinting back into his house. Geoff walked away leisurely, chuckling. 

Inside his house, Ryan was a whirlwind of panic. He yanked on a clean shirt, roughly slinging bags and his bow across his back. His quiver was only half stocked. On a normal day out Ryan would never forgo his armour, but right as he reached for it he felt himself being urged away. Unable to fight the pull, Ryan turned and ran out of his house as fast he could.

He made it to the water with seconds to spare. Geoff was waiting for him, and he watched Ryan keel over, gasping at the sudden return of control. 

“Off you go then,” he said, nodding towards the cliff face.

Ryan gaped at him.

“You can’t possibly-”

“Geoff says _climb._ ”

He jerked upright. With stiff movements he approached the base of the mountain and started to scale it. Ryan’s heart was pounding like a racehorse’s. He hadn’t even grabbed his pick-axe, or most of his climbing gear. On his belt hung some rope and a hook. But he didn’t reach for them, just grabbed and hauled himself up by his fingertips.

Rock crumbled beneath his foot and Ryan clung to the cliff face. For a moment the impulse to climb faded. It lasted barely a second, overwhelmed by his panic, before he was compelled onward. The wind tugged at him and without the safety of his gear, Ryan felt helpless. 

It was a miracle he made it to the top alive. If he had been any less fit, and hadn’t made the same climb countless times already, he no doubt would have fallen to his death. Once over the edge Ryan flopped onto his back, finally allowed to rest. He laid there and reeled. His breath came in harsh pants from the climb. 

“Okay, enough of that,” said Geoff’s voice in his head. Oh God, could he see Ryan? He cursed whatever magic the man was using.

“Geoff says get up and do some work, you lazy idiot. Go get some mushrooms or whatever.”

Ryan hauled himself upright. Despairing, he jogged through the forest, eyes constantly scanning for fungi. Light rain began falling overhead. He was drenched to the skin in minutes. Still he continued on, swiping water out of his face and slicking back his hair.

Several hours later his bags and pockets were bulging under the weight of mushrooms. They weren’t even safe to eat. At least half of them Ryan knew were poisonous. It didn’t matter, he could not stop himself from reaching for each new cluster he found. He was weighed down by the bulk of them.

Still he kept searching, fighting the whole time. Ryan kept up a steady stream of insults in his mind in the hopes that Geoff could hear them. He figured he got the gist of Ryan’s mood, judging by the way laughter rang in his ears. The only way it could have been worse was if something worse than Geoff showed up.

So of course that’s what happened.

Ryan heard the hiss of a creeper and wanted to dive away from the sound, but there was a mushroom _right there_ and he found himself reaching for it instead. An explosion went off far too close to him. It flung him away like a ragdoll. A tree stopped him, his back slamming against it hard enough to make him cry out before he slumped to the ground.

Geoff hissed sympathetically. “Oh damn. That looked like it hurt.”

Ryan lifted his head, dazed, and saw a living skeleton shuffle out of the undergrowth. It turned its eyeless sockets on him. Skinless hands raised a bow and notched an arrow, taking aim.

“Uh oh,” said Geoff, while internally Ryan screamed. “Fight that guy!”

Ryan was relieved, but as he reached for his bow Geoff seemed to perk up. 

“There! A stick! Grab it! Fight him!”

 _Was he fucking kidding?_ Ryan thought deliriously, even as his hands closed around a tree branch. He ran at the skeleton, an arrow barely missing him. The second scraped by his shoulder and he sucked in a breath but didn’t slow down. 

“Hit him! Hit him! Geoff says!”

Ryan swung the branch at the archer, knocking the bow from its hands. It stumbled, bones rattling. Ryan struck out at it. The skeleton swayed sideways, watching him swing impassively. He got a few hits in that didn’t seem to faze it. 

Finally Ryan ducked under its guard, getting behind it. He hooked the branch under its chin and pulled as hard as he could. 

The skull split away from its spine. He flung it into the undergrowth, watching the body crumple without its head. 

Geoff lit up his own skull with noise, laughing and screaming until Ryan had to close his eyes against the cacophony. Only then did Ryan notice the blood pouring from the slice on his arm. His arms had gone loose but he hadn’t let go of the stick.

“Geoff says drop it.”

The stick tumbled from weak fingers. Ryan glanced down at it, but didn’t try to pick it back up.

“Hmm,” Geoff said thoughtfully, cackles quietening down. “Alright, fine. Don’t say I never did anything for you. Geoff says come on home, buddy. Climb down the mountain and meet me at the bottom.”

Ryan was too tired to feel relieved. He stepped over the limp skeleton, laden down with mushrooms, and headed back to the cliff edge. Thankfully, Geoff’s command had been ambiguous enough that he was able to choose his own way down the mountain. Ryan tied a rope around his usual tree stump and began to rappel down.

The rain had eased off, but left the cliff face slick and dangerous. Several times Ryan’s boots slipped. He clung to the rope, terrified, until he was able to brace himself against the rock once again. Already he was covered in muck and he was only halfway down. 

Then Ryan came to a stop. He faltered, looking up and back down again. He was at the end of his rope. Usually he tied himself off at multiple points for safety, stopping to rest on ledges and the outcroppings of small caves. But in his haste, and with the echo of his last command spurring him on, he had rushed his descent. And now he was stuck.

Ryan knew what he should do. The smart choice would be to climb back up the rope. He could stay the night in the woods, and in the morning, when the rock face was dry, he could make another attempt at scaling it. 

Confident in his logic, he reached a hand out to begin pulling himself back up.

Geoff said, “Jump.”

Ryan stopped. “ _What?!_ ”

And then his hands let go of the rope.

 

Ryan screamed when he hit the ground, feeling something in his leg snap. The pain was excruciating. He felt it all the way up his spine. Ryan laid there and howled his agony until a shadow fell over him.

“Oof,” said Geoff, blocking out the sun. “Stop screaming.”

Ryan stopped. His voice choked off mid-breath, and a tear slipped free in its place. Geoff took a knee next to him. He set down some bandages and a rod by Ryan and began to make a splint for his leg.

“There’s another game I like to play,” he mused as he worked. Ryan would have screamed when he felt hands on his legs, but all that came out was a near-silent gurgle. “It’s called Respect Your Elders. You’ve clearly never heard of it, but don’t worry- the rules are pretty much the same.”

He fell quiet for a while as he tended to the injury. Ryan stared up at the grey sky, feeling further and further away from his body with each passing second. Geoff finished off and patted his knee. The pain yanked him violently back to the present.

“We can switch games if you like, Ryan,” Geoff told him seriously. “After I leave, I want you to get up, go back to your house, and stay there until morning. If you’re a good boy, and play my new game, I won’t have to do anything like this again. Okay?”

He waited. Ryan stared at him.

“Geoff says nod.”

Ryan’s head jerked up and down. If he didn't pass out soon it would be a miracle. But Geoff appeared satisfied. He stood up and walked off, and despite how much Ryan had wanted to be free of him all day, now he dreaded each step the man took away from him, because that meant-

The moment Geoff was out of view Ryan was forced upright on his splinted leg. His cries were barely audible. Doing his best to keep his weight off of it, Ryan limped all the way home. 

The door slammed shut behind him. Finally free, Ryan tossed off everything weighing him down and gingerly lowered himself onto the bed. He fumbled in his bedside drawer for something to ease the pain. 

Ryan drank two whole vials of a foul-tasting potion before a delicious numbness enveloped his leg up to the hip. He sighed heavily. The exhale caused his spine to curve and shoulders to slump. His head drooped towards the floor. 

Despairing, Ryan clutched the back of his head, almost rocking himself for comfort. Of all the people to have figured out a mind control magic, why did it have to be Geoff? Why couldn’t it have been Jeremy, or Jack? Hell, even Gavin would have been better! No matter what the man said, Ryan knew Geoff would take great relish in torturing Ryan as his newfound toy. And unlike any of the others, he wasn’t likely to get bored anytime soon.

Ryan yanked at his hair in distress. Then he stilled. His fingers bumped up against something on his neck, a small lump. He curled his hand around the spot and carefully peeled it away. Slowly, he coaxed it free and lowered his hand to look at it.

His first thought was that a beetle had crawled onto his shoulder. But no, although it was round and shone like beetle wings, it actually closer resembled a small pebble. Except it was soft and malleable. A tiny symbol glowed in its centre.

Ryan stared down at it until the sun came up.

 

 

Geoff was whistling merrily when Ryan limped his way to the waterfront. He grinned as he saw him approaching and set down his rod. Hands settling over his stomach, he waited until Ryan was standing over him, casting a shadow on his sunny fishing spot.

“Yes Ryan?” he asked, clearly delighted. “What can I do for you? Did you think about my offer?”

Ryan hesitated. “I’d like to play the other game, please. Sir.”

Geoff positively giggled. “Always knew you were a smart one, Haywood.”

Ryan bit his lip. “So you won’t- do you promise not to do that, anymore?”

Pleased as punch, Geoff got to his feet. His eyes glinted slyly, completely at odds with the false innocence of his expression. He held out a hand to Ryan.

“I swear. No more mind-control. Unless the situation really calls for it.”

Ryan stared him down. Finally he reached out and grasped the hand offered to him. Geoff shook it, sealing the deal.

“Now,” he said, “How about-”

Ryan yanked him abruptly, pulling him off balance and using his grip on his wrist to twist him around. He coiled Geoff's arm behind him painfully, pressing against his back. The man yelped.

“Geoff says-!”

Ryan clapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him. As he did so, Geoff felt something small and round settle on his tongue. His eyes bugged out of his head. He felt a breath at his ear, and the words echoed inside of his head in perfect tandem.

“Ryan says _swallow._ ”

Immediately Geoff gulped, and felt the pebble shaped thing slide down his throat. It settled in his stomach like dread.

Geoff’s face went white as a sheet.

Ryan lowered his hand and stepped back cautiously. Geoff, feeling nauseous, put his hands to his stomach like he could somehow feel the danger he had just swallowed. The other man clicked his tongue.

“Ryan says _kneel._ ”

He watched Geoff’s knees hit the ground in an instant. The fear that shone clear on his face was the sweetest thing to Ryan after the day he’d had. Ryan thrilled at the power at his fingertips.

“You know what Geoff,” he said, watching the man tremble before him, “I think I’ll stick with your original game after all. But we might change up the rules a little bit.”

He tilted his head, pretending to be deep in thought. Geoff was not laughing now. On the contrary, he looked close to tears. His voice warbled as he begged.

“Now Ryan, think about this…”

Ryan narrowed his eyes at him, suddenly beyond sick of his voice. It had been in his head for twenty-four hours, and he never wanted to hear it again. Geoff continued to blubber until he was cut off by a raised hand. He looked up at Ryan, a daring hope in his eyes.

“Come on, buddy. Won’t you go easy on me?”

He laughed, fixing Geoff with a cruel look.

“Ryan says _bite off your tongue._ ”

Over the sounds of screaming, Ryan smiled.

“Oh yes,” he said. “This’ll be fun.”


	25. Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The thing about space was that it didn't matter what time it was._

Ryan leaned back with a sigh, pushing his work away from him. A glance out of the window gave no indication of what time it was, but it was a habit he hadn’t been able to break. Even after months of space exploration there were some things too deeply ingrained in human nature. 

He looked out into the void of space for a minute. Stars glittered. Planets spun in the far off distance. Then he glanced down at his watch. It told him it was exactly midnight. 

The thing about space was that it didn’t matter what time it was. It was always night, and even orbiting a furiously burning star wasn’t enough to really make it feel like daylight. They drifted in a vacuum of eternity. It did things to your head, but fortunately the crew of the Achievement were trained at withstanding those mental impacts. 

One of those solutions was wearing a watch. For Ryan, it helped to keep in touch with a regular Earth schedule, even if only to ignore it. Like he was doing now. 

He knew the rest of his crew must be deep asleep by this point. It had been a long day. They’d all been eager to head to bed straight after returning to the ship, but Ryan had wanted to get some work done first.

They’d found some creatures on the planet they were now gently orbiting. He had a few of them in a glass chamber next to him. They resembled mice, but with leathery skin and two sets of ears. When he looked down at them, he saw that all of the critters were asleep save for one. It was standing up against the glass, nose twitching in Ryan’s direction.

“Hey Reggie,” he said, wiggling a finger in front of it. The space mouse dropped down in surprise but didn’t run away. “Let me guess, you can’t sleep either?”

It started cleaning its whiskers. They were long, wiry things that shimmered when the mouse toyed with them. Ryan watched it for a while, then jotted down a few notes on its behaviour.

Strangely enough, he didn’t feel all that tired. Earlier he had been just as exhausted as his crew. But although he still felt worn out, his mind was wide awake. He ended up sitting at his desk for a lot longer documenting all they had found when they’d descended that day. He lost track of time. Running his hand over his face, Ryan stole another look at his watch, bracing himself for bad news.

His watch read midnight. Frowning, Ryan tapped the face. Great. If his watch was broken, he would need to find a way to fix it himself. There weren’t many places he could take it to be repaired, not in this galaxy anyway. 

Still, it seemed as good an indication as any that he should head off to sleep. Ryan pushed away from his work and floated past the cage. He soared out the door and through the ship, guiding himself with quick tugs against the walls. His hand caught a pole and he curved neatly around a corner. Floating feet first up a tunnel, he flipped gracefully so that he was upright, ending up in the barracks. 

Just as he expected, the rest of the crew were closed off in their beds. He quietly drifted by them and strapped himself in. Ryan closed his eyes and let out a sigh. The tension eased out of his system. But there was still a buzzing in his head. He couldn’t exactly toss and turn, but Ryan fidgeted as best as he could. 

Eventually he opened his eyes and reflexively checked his watch. It was still broken, but it felt like at least an hour or two later. There was no way he was sleeping tonight. He couldn’t even feel the edges of sleep coiling against his consciousness, just that ever-present sensation pressing at him. It was almost like urgency. 

The feeling forced him out of the barracks. At the very least he wouldn’t wake up the rest of the crew with his shifting around. Not ready to return to work just yet, Ryan let himself explore the ship on auto-pilot. He stopped by windows to look out now and then. Their engines were off, but the ship still hummed quietly. 

In the distance Ryan could see the curve of the purple planet that they’d affectionately nicknamed Timerion. Jeremy’s idea. They’d vetoed his request to call its moon Rimothy, though. Some jokes just went too far. Ryan sat for awhile and watched the weather turn across its surface. 

At least it was peaceful. When the crew was awake the ship was rarely quiet. Ryan contemplated falling asleep right there, floating in the middle of the corridor. Then he noticed something on the window. Outside of the ship, a faintly shimmering substance crept over the glass like frost. 

Ryan leaned closer to inspect it, brow furrowing sharply. Quickly, he headed to the ship’s computer to run a diagnostics check. He didn’t know what that purple ice was, so he needed to find out immediately if it was affected their spacecraft. But as he was running the system, Ryan became distracted by something else. 

The computer’s Earth clock read midnight.

He blinked. Then he looked down at his watch, and back up. Ryan paused in his testing, letting the computer do its work while he stayed there and stared at the timer. He counted down in his head and waited for the minute to tick over.

He counted sixty seconds. Then three minutes, then five. The time didn’t change.

Ryan took off, spurred by an instinct that frightened him. He kicked and shoved off of the walls to propel himself faster. Finally he came across the sleeping crew. Jeremy was closest and he dove towards him, shaking his shoulders.

“Jeremy. Wake up, I think we have a problem.”

It was a stupid move. Jeremy was known to come up swinging if startled, and Ryan braced himself for an uppercut. But his crewmate stayed fast asleep. His head lolled side to side as Ryan shook him. Heart skipping, he lurched towards Michael, then Geoff.

“Hey! Wake up! Gavin? Lindsay!”

Not a single one of them responded to his calls. He grew louder until he was shouting, frantically shaking them. Nobody in the room stirred. He drew his hand back and slapped Trevor. No response.

He let go and floated backwards. His throat sealed up, thoughts racing. They were breathing, just unresponsive. Then he did a headcount and realised one person was missing. Immediately he took off out of the barracks.

Of course. Jack liked the peace and quiet as much as Ryan, and it wasn’t unusual to find him sitting up in the early hours of the morning to watch the stars pass by. They all loved space, but Jack was a fanatic. He never grew tired of the view.

Hope welled up on Ryan’s chest and he called out to the man. Finally he found him in the control room, strapped into one of the pilot seats. He reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

“Jack! The others-”

He trailed off when he realised how slack the man’s posture was. The sound of snoring filled the space. Ryan gave him a tentative shake, then gently pried his hand away.

He exhaled, slowly, forcing his breath to release steadily. Now was not the time to panic. Ryan couldn’t afford to lose it, not when he was the only person not affected by whatever had put his crew in this stasis. He needed to think. What had happened today that was different? There had to be a cause.

He headed back to his workstation. The only answer was the planet they were moored near. They had arrived fairly recently and never occurred anything like this until they’d ventured down to its surface. Only as Ryan dove for his research, he noticed something that drew him up short.

The same mouse was still awake and peering at him. Its companions remained dead asleep, but Reggie watched him with alien eyes. It tousled its whiskers again. The movement looked almost anxious.

Ryan moved towards the enclosure and put his fingers against the glass. A knock didn’t disturb the creatures, although Reggie twitched. So, it wasn’t just humans. Everyone and everything on the craft who had been asleep now remained that way. That wasn’t an emergency yet. They had needed their rest anyway. If they stayed asleep and didn’t exert any energy, it would be a while before their bodies began to deteriorate.

But they would, eventually. Ryan needed to find a solution to this problem as soon as possible.

He didn’t know the first place to start. A diagnostics run showed nothing, as if the computer was in stasis as well. The steady hum of the ship remained constant. When Ryan nudged Jack aside to try and start up the engines and put some distance between themselves and Timerion, he found they wouldn’t ignite. There was no obvious reason why the systems weren’t working. Only that they’d been off, and now they remained that way.

Ryan was at a loss. He took apart the control panel to see if there was anything interfering with it internally. He spent hours on the computer and even ran his own code in an attempt to override whatever was keeping the ship on lockdown. But there was no logic to it. As if like magic, a spell had been cast over the entire space craft. It was silent, and still, and slumbering. 

The quiet wasn’t nearly as peaceful when there was no way to fill it. Ryan could feel himself getting more and more anxious as time went by. His thoughts became frazzled. He’d forget to eat, and strangely enough, didn’t really need to. Throughout all of his work that odd, insistent urgency remained bubbling under his skin. If ever he stopped and tried to rest, that feeling forced his eyes open again.

His watch was broken, and time hardly mattered. But if he had to guess, Ryan suspected he had been awake for several days now. 

Looking at his sleeping crew was disturbing. But he quickly grew sick of the silence, and in his loneliness he let Reggie out of his cage. The leathery mouse clung to his clothes as he made his way around the ship. 

For a while the alien critter seemed happy about this. But the more time passed, the more jittery Reggie became. Eventually he wouldn’t sit still on Ryan’s shoulder. He’d race up and down his back and claw at his head. It was with great sorrow that Ryan finally gave in and returned him to his enclosure, leaving him alone again.

He took the computer apart and put it back together. He went through all of his notes, and even dug up everything the crew had written down about that day. Ryan went through their pockets, finding a notebook full of diagrams in Jeremy’s pants, a crumpled up sketch of the planet’s flora in Lindsay’s bunk. 

Anything he found got added to his growing pile of research. Nothing they’d discovered gave any indication of what had caused this. Ryan yanked at his hair and furiously crossed out theories. It was then that he noticed his hand shaking. The tremors grew worse once he focused on it, almost dropping his pen. He let go of it, ignoring how it floated up by his head as he grabbed his wrist and tried to force it still.

Ryan had no idea how long he’d been awake. Space made it kind of hard to tell. But he knew it had been a long time, longer than he’d ever stayed awake before, even in training. And despite the fact that his body remained alert, he was acutely aware of the effect it was having on his mind. Ryan couldn’t think straight. His thoughts felt fuzzy and were hard to focus on. They jumped from subject to subject. It made trying to find an answer to all of this seem impossible.

A noise drew his attention sideways. All of the mice remained in the same positions as always. But Reggie, the poor creature, was running in circles. As fast as he could, he chased his tail, around and around and around with no sign of stopping. He had been at it for over an hour. Any other animal its size would have surely collapsed from exhaustion ages ago. Ryan kept expecting its little heart to burst. 

It didn’t. He just kept running in circles. Ryan thought about how he had been racing back and forth around the Achievement, and knew that Reggie would not find rest that way. He’d already tried it. There was no relief to be had from exertion, not for them.

He crumpled, burying his head in his hands. They shook against his face. Deliriously, he imagined he could feel his brain unravelling, like a ball of string that was being tugged apart. His thoughts unspooled away from him and he had no idea how to get them back.

A completely meaningless amount of time later, Ryan raised his head and looked out the window. Only to find that he couldn’t. A shimmering, frost-like film covered the porthole. It obscured his view of outside. He stared at it.

Suddenly all of his thoughts came reeling back.

Ryan tore out of the room, sailing right past Reggie on his one-thousandth cycle of the cage. He headed for the computer, setting a few systems in preparation and then continued right on to the control room. 

He’d long since relocated Jack to the barracks. It hadn’t felt right to leave him in his chair. At least this way, they were all together, and when Ryan felt his most unravelled he could take a minute to sit among them and pretend they were all just sleeping.

So the space was empty when he entered. Immediately he began flicking switches, doing everything required to get the engines running. They didn’t start. He didn’t expect them to, having already attempted this several times before. It had become something of a daily ritual, or would have been, if he had any idea of how fast the days were passing.

Twitching fingers fumbled a dial, and he had to focus all of his attention to finalise the settings he wanted. The ship was now at the ready. Primed for movement, despite its current stasis. 

Now came the most important part. Ryan located their ground equipment. He loaded up with tools, most specifically the pick-axe that was used to mine ore they found on new planets. After getting into his spacesuit, Ryan strapped these tools to himself, and hit the button to open the doors.

Immediately the world went silent. If Ryan had thought the hum of the ship had been quiet, it was nothing compared to the vacuum of space. He floated out, ignoring the tether that kept him from going too far as he put some distance between himself and the craft. Then he turned to get a proper look.

It really did look like ice. Whatever it was shone a purplish hue, and had almost entirely encased the Achievement. Now that he was outside of the ship Ryan spotted some debris sharing the planet’s orbit. All of it was covered in the same sheen. The brunt of it completely coated the ship’s engines, but had since spread to almost cover the nose.

Ryan boosted himself forwards. He got a grip on the rungs in the side of the spacecraft, noting how slick they felt. His hand fumbled for his pick-axe.

Movements awkward in zero-gravity, Ryan set the point against the frost and resolutely began to chip away.

It came off quite easily. He made slow progress, occasionally switching tools. Ryan scraped, stabbed, even used his hands to claw at parts of it. The luminescent frost crumbled, bit by bit. 

The longer he worked, the more tired Ryan felt. As somebody who had been running on one-hundred percent energy for what felt like a fortnight, this realisation was as much of a relief as it was horrifying. He felt his eyelids slip closed and slumped against the rocket. Almost immediately he shook himself alert. 

He had to keep going. If he fell asleep out here, only for this frost to creep back over their ship, they were doomed. The crew would never wake up. They would never find him, out here alone in the darkness. It would forever be midnight on the Achievement.

Ryan thought of every sunrise he’d ever seen. Even in space, seeing light peek around planets as they made their slow, circling dance was one of the most hopeful and beautiful sights in the universe. Especially when accompanied with the morning greetings of the crew, and a hearty breakfast, and games to keep them from boredom. They had left their planet to explore the universe, and found a family along the way.

Ryan wasn’t ready to give that up just yet.

He maneuvered himself to the back of the ship. Here the frost coating was the thickest. Ryan plunged his pick-axe into the substance and began peeling it away. Again and again he did this, and every swing was heavier than the one before it. Several times his eyes tried to close. He could feel his heartbeat racing at the stress of it all, and thought again of Reggie chasing his tail to a point of exhaustion that never came.

Ryan swung. The last piece crumbled away, and the engines ignited.

With a roar he didn’t hear the ship surged to life. Systems came back online and the jets fired up, propelling the rocket slowly forward. Ryan felt the shift of momentum and immediately let go of the pick-axe to put his hand to his wrist. He couldn’t see his watch through his suit. But as he pressed his fingers against it, he could feel, through the layers, a faint but steady ticking.

Over a week’s worth of exhaustion hit Ryan like a wrecking ball. His grip on the ship fell away. Unconcerned, Ryan felt himself drift backwards, eyelids drooping. The tether around his waist gave a tug as he was dragged along behind the Achievement. He barely noticed. Now, floating and peaceful, Ryan closed his eyes and felt his systems slow.

Somewhere deep within the Achievement, a tiny heart stopped beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R.I.P Reggie 2018


	26. Carving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lyrical interlude, as well as the third and final part of the Gavin Fucks Up series.
> 
> For everyone who has been reading along, thank you for making it this far! Have a breather.

Touched by Midas and born a Fake  
Golden Boy you’ve made your last mistake   
Glitter and ashes, what could go wrong  
But now you face the wrath of the Vagabond

You’ve pushed the wrong buttons and made up my mind  
You think you’re so clever but I think you will find  
There’s more than one reason I belong to this crew  
And if you don’t start running I will show them to you...

 

So I’m carving your name on the blade of my knife  
You were craving for fame well you’ll find it tonight  
Soon every headline will be reading the words  
Your death was a mystery but it had to have hurt

 

Boast little FreeBird, you’ve never been owned  
Now pretty little Golden Boy’s about to get stoned  
A bird in the hand is worth two in the tree  
Put my hands on your neck and set your soul free

You talk far too much and have nothing to say  
Should suture your mouth shut and call it a day  
But it’s bad luck for you that you got on my nerves   
Now it’s my turn to see which of yours will break first…

 

So I’m carving your name on the blade of my knife  
You were craving for fame well you’ll find it tonight  
Soon every headline will be reading the words  
Your death was a mystery but it had to have hurt

And trust me it will hurt  
I swear to God I’ll make it hurt  
And leave you six feet in the dirt

I’ll keep carving ‘till it hurts


	27. Knife

Two figures grappled on the moonlit docks. On the wall their silhouettes collided, broke apart, crashed together once more. A flickering glint of light danced over their shadows. There was a cry, a meaty thud, and a knife tumbled free of its owner’s hand.

Flipping end over end it dropped straight down, catching the moonlight. Then it hit the water below and was immediately caught up in its current. The knife was tossed about. Unwielded and unclaimed, it followed the path cut by the river. 

In the early hours of the morning it washed ashore. Soft dawn light warmed its blade. For some time it sat there, caught on a rock. Its hilt was as cold and bare as if it had never been used. A knife without an owner had no purpose. And this was a very purposeful knife.

Small feet picked their way across the stones. A young girl in a pressed but dirtied school uniform skipped alongside the river. Pigtails bounced on her head. She checked the ground for treasure, and found more than just coins or shiny pebbles.

With awe she wrapped her fingers around the handle. The girl took a moment to study it, turning it this way and that. Her tiny hand fumbled to hold onto the unwieldy knife. Then she tucked it in her school bag and hurried off on her way to class.

It bounced in her backpack for the rest of the day. Sharp and secret, she stroked it carefully whenever she reached into her bag for something. It wasn’t until the bell rang and she headed home that the knife was taken out and quickly hidden in her pocket. She walked with a skip in her step.

When two taller figures stepped across her path, the girl stopped. Gone was her cheery smile. Now she waited, warily, but also with an undercurrent of excitement. She had courage now, it was in her pocket, and she tightened her hand around it in preparation.

“Where do you think you’re going, squirt?” the taller bully taunted. 

“Home,” she answered, voice firm.

“I think you should come play with us instead. We’re going to have some real fun,” said the other.

“I’m going home.”

“Oh yeah? Through us?”

The girl pulled her hand out of her pocket and pointed the knife at them. It gleamed, bright and deadly. Its blade was jagged and longer than her entire hand. She held it steady.

Their faces pulled tight with shock.

“What the fuck!” one of them blurted, grabbing the other by the shoulder.

“I’m going home now,” the little girl said happily. “Through you.”

They scrambled to get out of her path. The two bullies spat insults at her, but only once they were a safe distance away. Then they turned tail and ran. 

Thrilled, the little girl jumped around in a circle, grinning up a storm. She hid the knife away again and sprinted home, just for the hell of it. It was only when she was a block away that she stopped.

If her parents found out, they’d be super mad. The girl thought for a moment. Then she looked around and smiled. Taking the knife from her pocket, she stepped off the path and hid it in a tree stump. She kissed her fingertips and pressed it to the metal. It was a shame, but her hands were too small to hold it anyway.

“Bye,” she stage-whispered. Then she scooped up her bag and headed on home. 

The knife remained. Briefly warmed but since abandoned, it stayed in the tree stump as the afternoon sun passed overhead. Soon it reached such a point that it lit up the blade. It shone like a beacon. 

A crow landed on the stump, chasing something pretty. The light caught its eye. It hopped down into the remains of the tree and found something bright and reflective in its centre. The bird fiddled and pecked at the knife. Its claws closed around the handle, a little awkwardly, and with a beat of its wings it took off with its find.

The crow fought hard to keep the knife in its grip. It was large and an odd shape. Every time the bird took a sharp turn its treasure threatened to slip free of its grasp. Still it flew with it over trees and rooftops. Finally a car horn startled the crow.

It swooped upwards, and its talons sprang open on reflex. The handle was not made for claws and fell immediately away from it. Again it tumbled. This time, it fell further, but without water to catch it. It plummeted between two buildings and landed in an alleyway.

A group of men stood around in darkened corners. They snapped and shoved at each other. Amongst them was somebody on their knees, with their hands tied behind their back. They trembled. Too afraid to look at their captors, they instead kept their head down and their eyes averted. 

So when something metallic landed in the trash heap next to them, they were the only person to notice. Quickly their eyes darted around the group of criminals. All of them were looking away. Some were on their phones, trying to set up a hostage situation. 

The captive moved carefully. Trying not to draw attention to themselves, they slowly reached for the knife and maneuvered it up into their hands. They wrapped thin fingers around it, fidgeting a bit to try and fit its grip. It wasn’t perfect. But it would do.

While the men argued, they determinedly sawed away at the ropes binding them. Finally they snapped. Before anybody could look their way, the captive leapt to their feet and ran for their life. They heard shouts behind them. Footsteps pounded on the pavement. Their heart beat loud in their eardrums, but they didn’t stop running until they were safe.

A while later they leaned against a wall, fighting to catch their breath. The sounds of pursuit had long since faded. It was then that they realised they were still holding the knife. They raised it, admiring the curved blade, the finely crafted hilt. It would be worth a pretty penny. 

But right now, they didn’t quite want to part with it. It had come from nowhere and saved their life. What kind of miracle had made it fall exactly where they’d needed it? 

They closed their fingers around the handle. Then they shifted it to their other hand, adjusting it a few times to try and get a feel for it. The knife felt big and unwieldy. But it had saved them.

Feeling mighty grateful, they slipped it into their jacket and headed home.

Well. Home was a misnomer. The apartment where they lived was small and run down, which wouldn’t have been so bad. But the fact that it was owned by their abusive asshole of an ex-boyfriend made it a living hell. They couldn’t afford to move out, not just yet. But the longer they refused to be in a relationship with their ex, the higher the rent became.

Perhaps, after selling this knife, they would have enough to at least share a room with somebody who wasn’t a complete psychopath.

Sure enough, the moment they reached their apartment, they found their ex standing outside the door.

“Keys,” he said, arms crossed.

Their heart jumped. “You can’t kick me out. I paid my half!”

“Rent went up, and you’re a pain in my ass,” he groused. “I’m taxing you for being a little shit and wasting my time. Give me the money or give me your keys.”

Their shoulders slumped. “I don’t have any money on me.”

Their ex huffed. “Typical.” Then he noticed their hand still in their pocket. “What’ve you got there? Show me.”

They hesitated. He started to glower, expression darkening, and they quickly retrieved the knife. With great reluctance they held it out to him. He snatched it from their hands and inspected it. His eyes glittered.

“Nice,” he murmured. Then he snapped to attention. “I’m keeping this. You can stay another week or so until you get the money. Otherwise you’re out.”

They opened their mouth to protest, but bit their tongue when he looked at them warningly. No matter how much they hated him, they knew better than to make him angry. Especially now. Sullenly they watched him wrap his fat, greedy fingers around the knife. They took a private pleasure in seeing the difficulty he had in holding it properly.

“What’re you smirking at?” he demanded. Immediately they sobered.

“Nothing, Leroy.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get inside, but behave. I’m going out tonight and I don’t want to come home to any nonsense.”

He tucked the knife away and stepped past them. They recoiled when he leaned in to press a kiss to their forehead.

“Later sweetheart,” he said, and they fought back a shudder. Snickering, he left them to their misery and headed on out.

Leroy had one goal in mind, and that was to get shitfaced. Perhaps do some rough-housing, try out his new toy if he got the chance. But alcohol was a crucial element to that plan. He reached his destination and immediately called out to the bartender. Time for his night of fun to begin.

It took several drinks to knock him off his feet. Leroy was something of a pro at this. His tolerance for liquor was as high as his intolerance for people. Unfortunately for him, the feeling was mutual. 

When things started to get hazy and his blood drew to a steady boil, Leroy looked around the bar and spotted his target. A broad shouldered man in a leather jacket sat alone on a barstool. He nursed a bubbling drink he didn’t recognise. Which surprised Leroy, because he’d tried every alcoholic beverage in the joint.

Well. He’d just have to ask him what it was. Nicely, of course.

He slammed his own drink down on the table, spilling beer. It sloshed over his hand and onto the floor. The stranger didn’t even look up from his glass. 

“What the hell you drinkin’?” Leroy demanded, tongue clumsy in his mouth.

Blue eyes flicked up to him over the rim of his drink.

“Coke,” he said shortly.

Leroy stared at him. 

“Why the fuck you drinking Coke?” he yelled, suddenly irrationally angry. Here Leroy was out trying to have a good time, and this idiot wasn’t even drinking. He was sipping away on some _kid’s drink._

“You want a fucking straw?” Leroy asked him. 

He reached out and slapped the glass out of his hand. It shattered on the floor, and the bartender immediately cursed him out. The stranger sighed. He still wasn’t looking at Leroy, his gaze on the broken glass. His expression was almost forlorn.

“Look,” he told Leroy. “I’m in a bit of a mood, if you’re too drunk to tell. But I’m also on...a break, of a kind, and I don’t want to ruin my streak, so you’ve got one last chance to fix your mistake. Apologise, buy me another drink, and we can both walk away from this the best of friends.”

Leroy squinted at him.

“You fucking dumb or something?” he asked, but it came out slurred and unintelligible. 

“Or something,” the man said anyway. Then he sighed and put his hands on the table, avoiding the puddle of beer. He stood up. Leroy tilted his head back, surprised by how tall he was.

“Okay then,” he said in a bored tone. “Let’s take it outside, shall we?”

“Oi, pay your tab first!” griped the bartender. The man waved at him.

“I’ll cover his when this is done,” he promised. The bartender settled and went back to wiping glasses. He poured out another drink of Coke and left it on the bar. Nobody touched it.

Leroy followed the stranger out into the street.

“You’ll pay with my fists,” he said, spitting at the ground.

“What does that even mean?” the man asked. He shook his head in bewilderment. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Infuriated by his lackadaisical attitude, Leroy charged at him. He swung a mean right hook. The stranger dodged it neatly, letting Leroy carry on right past him. Hollering, Leroy punched again and this time his arm was caught and a fist sunk into his gut. He doubled over in pain. 

“This isn’t even fun,” the other man complained. He stood still and waited for Leroy to right himself. Leroy bared his teeth at him.

“How’s this for fun?” he taunted, reaching for the knife. Leroy almost dropped the weapon whipping it out and had to grip the handle tighter to keep a hold of it. He brandished the knife in the direction of the stranger. 

“How’s this for fun!” he crowed.

“You said that already,” the man pointed out. 

Leroy went red with fury and charged again. The stranger caught his arm, holding the knife away. They grappled. Leroy took several jabs to the face and abdomen, all while still trying to force the blade down into the other man’s neck. Then he felt a leg hook behind his.

Leroy hit the ground so hard the air flew out of him. He choked and spluttered on his back. Panicked, he tried to blindly slash with the knife but a boot planted solidly on his arm, keeping the blade pinned.

“You don’t even know how to use that thing,” the man chided. “Where does a little man like you get such a big knife?”

He tilted his head to look down at the weapon, then went still. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Sensing an opportunity, Leroy bucked and got his arm free. He used the other man’s distraction as a chance to lunge up and sink the blade into his gut.

The stranger gasped and reeled backwards. Leroy cheered internally. As he clambered to his feet, the man looked down at the knife in his lower abdomen. 

His hand closed around the hilt. Calloused fingers settled along well-worn grooves. His palm fit around the handle almost lovingly. With a grunt he slowly dragged it free of his stomach, and held up the blood-slicked knife to inspect it.

“Ah,” he said fondly. “I’ve been looking for you.”

And before Leroy could react, the man stepped forward and thrust the knife into his chest. All that came out was a gurgle as the blade slid up between his ribs. 

It was a perfect fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Ryan's lucky knife. Alternative title: Bowie's Day Out ;)


	28. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "For the record, at no point during any of this am I actually going to be afraid." -Ryan Haywood 2018

Ryan stepped into the padded room and immediately the door swung shut behind him.

He spun around. Grimacing, he switched his camera to his other hand so he could bang on the door. From beyond it he could hear laughter.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“What’s the matter Ryan?” Geoff called through the door. “I thought nothing scared you?”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “I’m not scared, but I thought we were filming a show.”

“We are! Look up, idiot.”

Ryan spotted a camera set up in the corner of the ceiling. He flipped it off.

“Gavin’s not here so you’re bait tonight.”

“How dare you compare me to Gavin,” Ryan said, scandalised. “I’m way more juicy.”

He heard Jeremy laugh and considered it a win. Geoff grumbled and Michael spoke up.

“Told you, Geoff. Need something better than a padded cell to freak out this madman.”

“So you’ll let me out?” Ryan asked hopefully.

A snort. “Nah, it’s still funny.”

Ryan stepped back with a huff. So much for hunting ghosts. The others continued to talk, voices muted through the door. He explored the room. There wasn’t much of interest, just stained, aged walls and corners piled with dust. It was dark in here with the door shut, even with his camera out, and after a moment he turned on the flashlight. 

Immediately he noticed a hole in the wall that he’d previously missed. Crouching down, he peered inside, shining his torch into the tunnel beyond. It was fairly rounded off and led much deeper into the building.

Well. That was odd. Ryan’s brow furrowed as he puzzled it out, all the while listening to his coworkers bicker about whether or not to let him out. He opened his mouth to call for them, then hesitated. 

This tunnel probably had an exit. It was wide enough to crawl through, and if Ryan could get out and sneak around to scare the others, it would be great content. Not to mention absolutely hilarious vengeance.

“Fine,” he muttered to himself as he got down on his knees. “Fine, fine, fine.”

Ryan ducked his head and crawled into the hole.

It was a tight squeeze, for sure. His shoulders knocked the walls. It caused dust to scatter across his head and back. He shook his hair free of debris and cobwebs. The voices faded as he got further away.

There wasn’t any light at the end of the tunnel, but he didn’t expect there to be. He had his camera in his hand as he crawled so he wasn’t in complete darkness. After about a minute of crawling he heard an odd sound behind him.

Stilling, Ryan leaned to one side to point his camera backwards. The tunnel was empty. He could still see the point where he had entered. Ryan brushed it off and kept crawling. 

Only a few seconds later he heard it again, that strange skittering. This time he snapped around, light filling the tunnel behind him. Still empty. His eyes narrowed. 

He waited for some sign of a prank. There definitely wasn’t anybody in the tunnel with him, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they had planned for this and set up some trap to mess with him. But nothing happened, despite him waiting there in the dark for a minute that stretched on for eternity. 

Slowly, he turned back around around. If they were messing with him, he’d just have to keep an eye out. In the end, it was all content. But it would be nice to get the drop on-

A skitter.

This time when Ryan automatically looked back, he didn’t turn his light with the motion. Instead he just faced the darkness.

Something moved behind him. It blocked the tunnel, its shape undefinable. Dark tendrils stretched forward, moving like tentacles as it dragged itself through the tunnel towards Ryan.

Eyes suddenly blown wide, Ryan started crawling faster. Without looking back at the noise he pushed onward. He knocked his camera against the wall and the light flickered. Then he came up against a metal grate. It was old and rusted with no visible way to open it.

Ryan slammed his hands against it. The grate rattled loudly. 

“Hey!” he shouted, hitting it again. There was only darkness beyond. He looked back, and saw whatever it was coming closer. It flowed side to side, its movements smooth as it kept close to the tunnel wall, occasionally moving to the ceiling. The sounds of chittering filled the tunnel.

Ryan twisted around in the cramped space until his feet were against the grate. He kicked it, once, twice, and then it popped open with a loud clang. Immediately he tumbled out, feet landing in water. He swung around and shone his light into the tunnel, heart pounding.

It was empty. Panting, Ryan leaned close and swept the beam along all sides of the tunnel. There was nothing there. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Maybe a rat, but rats didn’t have that many legs. Maybe a spider, but what kind of spider moved like that?

He exhaled long and hard, releasing some of the tension from his shoulders. Nothing jumped out at him, and there were no other noises. Ryan had to entertain the possibility that he’d imagined the whole thing. It was very dark and spooky. That did things to a man’s head. Didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

He checked the tunnel one last time just to be sure. Then he finally turned to take in his surroundings. 

At first he worried he was in some sort of sewer system. But it looked like any of other hallways they had walked through on their way in. The only difference was that it was completely flooded. Ryan looked for some source, a burst pipe or signs of a recent storm. He found nothing in this hallway to explain the water that was currently soaking up to his calves.

Honestly, some of the wind had gone out of Ryan’s sails. His plan to scare the others no longer seemed that funny. He kind of just wanted to get back to them, which left him with two options. Either he could carry on as was his original intention, or he could head back and beg the mercy of his coworkers. 

Ryan cast a cautious look towards the tunnel. Then he turned and waded away.

The corridor was filled with distant, echoing sounds. Pipes groaned and water dripped. Ryan’s sloshing through the hallway was the loudest. He caught himself instinctively trying to minimise the noise and shook himself, irritated. There was nothing to be scared of here. He wasn’t a child.

Something hissed. His torch caught the tail end of a snake as it slowly slid out of sight. He took a moment to note where it was and gave it a wide berth. 

One odd thing he did notice, was that all of the doors he passed were open. He took a moment to peer into each one before moving on. Most were offices. Some looked almost like classrooms. Others were empty, and those were the only rooms that seemed to fit the same atmosphere that the padded room had. Ryan had no idea what the classrooms could have been used for.

He spotted a door that was shut and immediately headed towards it. The handle was chilly in his hand but turned with a squeak.

Suddenly the door swung open, slamming into him and sending him stumbling. A swarm of insects poured from the doorway like a wave. They collided with Ryan. He went down, landing in the water and immediately freezing when he felt the bugs descend on him. They buzzed furiously, crawling over his clothes and skin on their way out of the door.

Ryan laid very, very still, and held his breath. He kept his mouth firmly shut. Hard beetle wings brushed his lips and tickled his nose. The buzzing was a low roar in his ears. 

Bit by bit, they lost interest in him and headed down the corridor. The swarm lessened. Eventually there were only a few insects left, and even they finally peeled off his hair and buzzed away. Only then did Ryan dare to breathe.

Slowly, shakily, he dragged himself upright. Absolutely drenched, he shook his hands free of water and was glad that he’d kept his grip on the camera. Just some bugs, he thought to himself, still twitching at the thought of them crawling over him. Nothing to worry about.

Fuck this. Ryan reached for his radio, ready to call the whole thing a day.

“Hey. Can somebody come get me? I’m further into the wing, I think a little bit east of where you fucks left me.” He paused and waited for a response that didn’t come. “Hello?”

Ryan pressed a few buttons on his radio, but nothing seemed to fix it. Or maybe they were just ignoring him.

“Piece of junk,” he muttered. Abandoning it, he raised the camera, holding it in both hands to keep the light steady. 

Very cautiously he peeked into the door he’d opened. The bugs seemed to be gone. It wasn’t an exit, like he’d hoped, but there was a giant window at the back wall. Ryan stepped into the office. He headed for the window, constantly moving the light and checking every corner.

When he got to the back wall he was disappointed to find that it didn’t show the world outside. It was just a viewing area. Too dark to really see beyond it, but he could tell that much.

Ryan stepped back, and the light of his camera made his reflection on the glass look eerie. He startled briefly before realising it was just himself. As if to prove it, he tilted his head to the left. It was difficult to see in this lighting, but his reflection followed the action. Relaxing, Ryan tilted his head the other way, and the reflection copied him.

Then he straightened, and his reflection stayed still. 

Hands slammed against the glass and Ryan _rocketed_ backwards, almost dropping his camera. His reflection reared back and beat on the glass again, and cracks began to splinter along the window. Ryan didn’t hang around to see if it broke. 

He turned and hauled ass out of the office. Every door he passed instantly slammed shut. The sound of it was like constant gunfire, amplified by the corridor. Feet splashing down into the water he sprinted down the hallways, trying to retrace his steps. 

He was breathing too fast, thoughts coming too quickly to process. Ryan paused briefly at an intersection, trying to remember the way. 

He heard a scream from behind him. Ryan picked a direction at random and kept running. The water surged around him. With a start he realised that it had started flowing backwards, dragging at each step. The hallway began to drain, all of the water rushing towards the darkness behind him. 

He forged on against the tide. Twice he almost fell. He didn’t dare look back, but he could hear something chasing him. Something that didn’t touch the water but certainly ricocheted off of the walls after Ryan.

He ran and ran, certain he was going in circles. And then-

“How mad do you think he’d be if we went and got McDonald’s right now?”

“Oh Geoff. No, Geoff.”

The voices of his coworkers echoed into the tunnel. Ryan’s head snapped towards it. Tripping and stumbling he followed the sounds of talking. His hands hit a wall. Frantic, Ryan ran his fingers over it, hyper aware of the skittering noises filling the tunnel behind him. Whatever was chasing him was getting closer.

Then he felt cool air on his hands. His fingers curled into a crack in the wall. Another scream from behind him and Ryan didn’t think. He just crammed himself into the crevasse. 

Sucking his gut in, wall scraping his chin, he scooted sideways as fast as he could. Jagged edges caught at his clothes, tore his skin open. He sliced his cheek and kept going. 

There was a light ahead. He wriggled his way towards it, and suddenly he was free.

Ryan had barely enough time to look around and realise he was back in the padded cell. Immediately he lunged up and threw himself against the door.

“Open it!” he screamed, banging repeatedly with both fists. “ _Open it up!_ ”

“Jesus Christ, Ryan-” he heard Geoff say and doubled his efforts.

“Please!” he shouted, hearing skittering behind him. “You win! I’m scared! _I’m scared!_ ”

The door swung open and Ryan tumbled forwards into waiting arms. His friends grabbed him and hauled him upright. Ryan clung to Jeremy, trembling like a leaf. His legs gave out beneath him. Alarmed, his coworker dragged him away from the cell, leaning him up against a wall. 

“Holy shit,” Jeremy swore, looking over Ryan. “You’re not joking.”

Ryan realised he was shaking. He had his arms wrapped tightly around himself, knees drawn up to his chest. The other Achievement Haunters hovered around him. Their faces were creased with confusion and worry.

“Shit, Ryan,” said Michael finally. “You were only in there for like two minutes. What the hell happened?”

Ryan stared at him, stinging with disbelief. Two minutes? It felt like Ryan had been wandering around in those hallways for well over an hour. 

“Close it,” he stammered. Geoff hurried to close the cell door, but not before glancing inside. He turned back with anxiety written clear on his face.

“What happened to you, Ryan?”

He fought through the story, trying to explain the tunnel he’d gone through. It only earned him a lot of confused looks. 

“There’s no tunnel, Ryan. No crack in the wall either.”

“Let me look,” Michael said, but Ryan lunged forward and caught his arm.

“No!” Michael looked genuinely startled. None of them seemed to have any idea what to do with Ryan’s obvious fear.

“Look, it’s okay,” Jeremy said comfortingly. He patted Ryan’s shoulder. “Let’s just go look at the footage, yeah? Maybe that’ll explain things better.”

They coaxed a shivering Ryan up and out of the building. He stayed in the centre of the tight knit group. However much they doubted his story, he noticed that they stuck close together. Light beams swung back and forth. All of them constantly checked over their shoulders. 

Ryan had lost his camera at some point, so he was even more grateful to be surrounded by light. The crew were very surprised to see them return so soon. Geoff explained that they needed to roll back the tapes. Soon they were all crowded around a computer screen, and Michael had found a blanket to put over Ryan’s shoulders. 

Ryan watched, chilled to the bone, as he stepped into the cell and was consequently trapped. The volume was off, but he could see his own lips moving on the screen. After a brief back and forth with his coworkers he had stepped back. All of them watched as the Ryan in the video looked around the room. Then he seemed to focus on something below the camera, just out of frame. He crouched down, then stopped.

Ryan frowned. Michael leaned forward and tapped the keyboard a few times.

“Is it frozen?” Jeremy asked, while they waited for the video to continue.

“Looks like it,” Michael answered slowly. 

Ryan shoved him aside and took a seat in the chair, blanket slipping off of him. The others shared a look behind his back. He ignored it, fervently scrolling through the footage. It remained frozen for what was only about sixty seconds before suddenly cutting to Ryan beating against the door and yelling.

He sat back heavily. A hand squeezed his shoulder.

“I think,” Geoff said, “That that’s about enough of that bullshit.”

There was a chorus of agreements. The crew all appeared confused but Geoff immediately called them off to explain, while Michael and Jeremy set about helping them pack up as quickly as possible. Anything to get away from this place sooner.

Ryan stayed in his seat. He stared at the screen, mouth dry. Sixty seconds. He knew he couldn’t have imagined it all. His clothes were still drenched for Christ’s sake. There was blood dripping down his forearm from his scramble through the tunnel.

He watched the screen until he saw Geoff appear and shut the door. Numbly Ryan reached forward to stop the recording. Then he blinked, and suddenly there was somebody standing in the cell.

He leaned forward sharply. The figure stood perfectly still, inches from the closed door. It just stood there and stared at it. Like it could see through it. Ryan recalled how they had all been gathered just beyond the door and shuddered.

On the screen, the figure turned its head to look up at the camera. 

The video turned to static.


	29. Experiment

Something was tugging on Ryan’s stomach. No. Not on his stomach. Inside of it, like his guts were twisting up ready to hurl. He forced his eyes open blearily. On instinct he tried to reach out and find something to vomit in. But his hands wouldn’t move.

Finally he got his eyelids to work and blinked up at a bright light. Something shifted, and the light was blocked by a man with an impressive mane of hair. It kept falling in front of his face. He tossed his head in an attempt to clear it, too busy to push it back since his hands were buried deep in Ryan’s ribcage. He squinted down at his work and-

Wait. 

Wait.

Ryan twisted his head to look down. He didn’t get far with the strap across his forehead, but he could see just far enough to follow the man's gaze down to his torso. It was like somebody had taken an axe to his sternum. His skin was tapered to the sides, holding it open, and his ribs had been carefully cracked open and peeled back to reveal a mass of organs. He stared. Deep in his chest he could feel his heart beating steadily, stuttering only when a hand bumped up against it.

The man glanced up. Then he did a double take, eyes widening in shock.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Are you awake?”

Ryan met his eyes and they stared at each other for a minute. The other man fidgeted, as if awkward. Meanwhile, Ryan fought not to hyperventilate.

“Uh okay,” he continued. He cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on Ryan’s liver. “This is, uh. This is a little awkward, I’m not gonna lie.”

He pulled his hands out, and in them he was holding something oblong and squishy that definitely belonged back in Ryan’s body.

“That’s mine,” he said dumbly. 

“Ah.” The man looked down at it. “Yeah, well I mean…”

“Put it back.” It was amazing what shock could do to a person. Rather than panicking, Ryan felt his thoughts turn to wool, fuzzy and distant. He blankly looked at the organ held above him. An urgency niggled at him but was kept at bay by his complete and utter detachment from the situation.

“Alright, chill out, you’ll grow another one,” said the man grumpily. “I’m Matt by the way.”’

He shifted the organ and held out his free hand. Ryan glanced down at his restrained wrists. Matt followed the look and laughed in embarrassment.

“Right, sorry, I forgot. Look, just let me stick this in a jar and then I'll put you back together, no sweat.”

Ryan watched him leave until he couldn’t turn his head any further. He could hear him pottering around somewhere behind him. In the sudden privacy he took in his surroundings. It was like a coliseum had been turned into a slap-dash laboratory. The ceiling was high and curved above him. Circular walls held multiple large doors, and in the centre of the space was the gurney Ryan was strapped to amongst a variety of tools.

“What do you mean it’ll grow back?” Ryan heard himself ask, and marvelled at how numb he felt.

Something clattered like he’d startled the scientist. 

“Hmm? Oh, I’ve given you a healing factor. Little experiment, you weren’t meant to wake up during it. My apologies.”

He came back into view and began fiddling with the tape on his chest.

“See? I had to tie your skin back so it would stop sealing back together. It’s kind of a hassle, really, but what can you do?”

Matt was probably the least threatening man Ryan had ever seen. He watched him slot his rib cage back into place with such a casual manner that Ryan barely flinched at the sensation. His skin was folded over soon after. A smooth of his hand, a comforting pat, and then Ryan looked down and his chest was good as new. Not a single scar marred his pale skin. 

“All better,” Matt said, as if trying to convince Ryan of that fact. Funnily enough, with the cloudy state that Ryan’s head was in, it kind of worked. “Didn’t even need a band-aid.”

Ryan took in his newly healed chest for a moment, imagining that he could feel flesh knitting itself back together beneath his skin. It was a sort of crawling, itchy sensation. He shuddered against his restraints.

Matt noticed. “Yeah, weird right? Count yourself lucky I got the burning sensation to stop. The first guy wouldn’t stop screaming.”

“The first?”

“Of course. You didn’t think I managed a healing factor on my first go, did you? I mean, I’m kind of flattered, but no.”

He patted Ryan’s shoulder, but only briefly, like he wasn’t used to offering friendly pats. Given the way he fidgeted and rubbed his fingers together afterwards, Ryan guessed he wasn’t used to people, in general. At least, not people who were responsive. 

“Why?” was all Ryan could muster up in the awkward pause that followed.

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. He shook his hair out of his eyes, brow furrowing as he pondered.

“Uh…” He shrugged. “Why not?”

Then he started gathering up his tools and walking to the door. He talked as he went.

“Okay, so, it’s a bit unfortunate that you’re awake now but I guess we just need to press on. I have a few more tests to run. My last patient grew an entire arm back that had been cut off, so it’s time to up the intensity.”

A door slid open and shut. Ryan tried to twist his head around, but couldn’t see further then his shoulder. There came a click and the sound of electrical feedback. Matt’s voice filtered in over a speaker, the sound interspersed with coughs and static.

“It's James, isn't it? I read your driver’s license when I brought you in here. Just lean back and try to relax, okay?”

The table jolted, then rose upward, startling Ryan. His eyes darted around the room frantically. Bit by bit that fuzzy dissociation was beginning to peel back the curtains on his mind. He found himself unpleasantly present in the moment. Ryan felt his heartbeat speed up within his newly repaired rib cage.

The table flipped so that Ryan was upright. He slipped slightly against the restraints but remained held fast. Now he faced one of the doors. It was about the size of a garage.

“I’ve been experimenting,” Matt explained over the speakers, “And I’ve been able to have people grow back entire body parts successfully. Which kind of begs the question, now, of exactly how much body needs to be left for regrowth to occur?”

A loud buzzing noise rang out, sounding like an alarm. On the wall a bright red light turned on and began flashing in warning. The door in front of Ryan slowly began to rise, rumbling against its bearings like the foreshadowing of a storm. Ryan couldn’t see what lay in the darkness within. But his instincts woke up at the noise and the lights, and soon he was struggling against his restraints. They kept him pinned in place no matter how much he jerked.

“I’m not going to lie,” Matt told him apologetically. “This is probably going to hurt a lot.”

Deep in the darkness, something growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a universe adjacent to the Immortal Assholes... :P


	30. Treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more day...

The doorbell dinged as Ryan stepped outside. It was already dark out. He adjusted his groceries to make them easier to carry and glanced at his watch. Not too late. If he hurried home he could catch the new episode of his favourite show. 

Pleased, he hummed to himself as he headed towards his car. There were some good smells wafting up from the bags of food he held. He kept ducking his nose towards them, peeking inside as his belly rumbled. Once again he did this and immediately came to a halt. Ryan sighed.

He’d forgotten to get treats. Grumbling, he turned around, shuffling his bags and turning back down the street he’d just exited. A stray cat sat cleaning itself by a pile of garbage. It bristled and hissed at him as he passed. Ryan grimaced back at it. The cat quickly slunk away. 

He heard a crashing sound down a side alley. Ryan paused, then carefully approached the corner and peeked around. There was a group of thugs lurking in the street beyond. Pale skinned, heavily tattooed and dressed like douchebags, they jeered and taunted the cat from earlier. One of them kicked at it. It swiped a paw at them but did not flee. 

Ryan watched until he felt a hand slam into him from behind. He went staggering forward. His groceries hit the ground, and the ruffians looked up. Now he was standing in full view of them, and another man stood behind him threateningly. They all turned their attention away from the cat. It took off immediately, and Ryan barely spared it a glance before turning a wary eye on the men surrounding him.

“Who’s this dickhead?” one demanded. “You spying on us? Creep?”

Ryan muttered, “Just on my way to get dog food.”

“Aw, you got a little puppy? Does it piss in your shoes or do you do that yourself?”

The group descended into sniggers. Their leader puffed his chest out, pleased at the reaction. His face pulled into a sneer and he leaned in closer to Ryan. The man’s nose ring was tauntingly near. Ryan had the most absurd urge to grab it and yank.

Judging by the way they’d moved to circle him, however, that wouldn’t be the smartest idea. Ryan’s eyes kept drifting to it anyway.

“Hey!” The leader clicked his fingers in front of his face. “Are you even listening to me? You stupid or something?”

“Sorry,” Ryan shook himself. “What?”

His face reddened. He shoved both hands against Ryan’s shoulders, sending him reeling backwards. Ryan’s heel caught one of his dropped bags and he tumbled to the ground. More laughter. He sat up to survey the damage. There was ice cream steadily melting onto the pavement and his carrots had come out of their bag.

“Well,” said Ryan, a little put out. “At least now I know for sure that you’re an asshole.”

The leader bristled. He grabbed Ryan by the collar and hauled him up. One hand reeled back to punch him, but before he could Ryan stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a sharp, loud whistle. The piercing sound made the man stop and blink.

“Ow,” complained one of his goons. More than a few of them were rubbing at their ears and wincing. The leader glowered at Ryan, twisting around to shove him against the wall.

“What’re you playing at?” he growled. Ryan had to grab his wrists for stability as he was shaken like a ragdoll. “Who are you signalling? You got boys?”

“I have a boy,” Ryan corrected, holding up a finger. “And he’s a very good boy.”

While the leader frowned in puzzlement, the others startled at the sudden gust of wind that swept the street. It toppled garbage cans and scattered loose trash. Two of them stumbled from the force and clung to each other to keep their footing. 

“What the fuck was that?” someone cried.

“Let him down, Ed, he’s some sort of wizard!”

“You idiots,” their leader snapped back, grip tightening on Ryan. “It’s just the wind! And he’s just a man!”

Something growled at the end of the street. The men all whirled around, some tripping over in their haste. The alleyway was empty. Or at least it appeared that way. But a steady, ferocious rumble echoed off the narrow walls. Something sparked on the ground like somebody had thrown a lit match.

Another set of sparks, a few inches forward, and then again. A scattering of embers, a burst of flames, and the growling grew louder as they approached. They picked up the pace. The bursts took the shape of padded footprints and lit up the street as they galloped towards the group. 

The men fell over themselves in an attempt to flee the invisible terror running at them. They screamed and shoved each other to the ground. But the street was a dead end and they had nowhere to go. Only the cat had managed to slip away.

The footprints grew closer and each step let off a greater burst of fire. Flames licked up, revealing the shape of bone legs, the barest hint of a skeletal jaw. The hands holding Ryan fell away as the leader stumbled backwards. His face went white as a ghost and he fell over in his haste to get away.

The moment he was free Ryan stepped forward and held out his arm. A rope coiled in his hand. He held the end and whipped it out, the tail cracking like a whip before catching fire. Warmth and flickering light flooded the alleyway. 

Ryan lashed out with the flaming rope and it wrapped neatly around the creature thundering towards them. The fire leapt from the rope and onto its hidden form. Flames rolled over its back, revealing clean white bones that shifted without sinew or muscle to hold them together. Now, revealed, was a great, skeletal hound. It stood nearly as tall as Ryan and its jaw clacked as it snarled.

One of the men shrieked and the fiery hound lunged at him. Immediately Ryan wrapped both hands around the rope and dug his heels in, completely ignoring the flames that nipped at him. The rope went taught. Against all logic, the beast was brought to heel. It tugged at its leash, then turned on Ryan, head larger than his entire torso.

It whined.

“Aw, I know buddy,” Ryan said soothingly. He beckoned the creature and it padded over to him, feet clicking on the pavement. The thugs cowered as it passed them. When it reached him the hound ducked to shove its head against his chest. Ryan was quick to pat its skull.

“I’m sorry I was late. I was looking for treats for you,” he apologised to his pet. Out of the corner of his eye he could see some of the ruffians come to their senses and take off on shaking legs. He ignored them, giving the hellhound another scratch. It earned him a happy nudge.

“But you came so quickly, didn’t you?” he cooed. “You’re such a good boy. Yes you are. Yes, you’re a good boy!”

The leader shifted on the ground, and immediately the hellhound stopped relaxing beneath Ryan’s attention and snapped around. A growl rose up from the depths of its ribcage. Bone jaws parted to reveal long canines, perfect for shredding. The flames that had previously burned down along its spine roared ever higher.

Ryan sighed at the cowering man. 

“Yeah, he’s a real sour puss. You can tell that, can’t you boy?”

“Please,” begged the leader. His friends had long since abandoned him. Now it was just him, and Ryan, and the flaming monster that blocked the street. There was no escape.

Ryan patted his hound. “Good dogs deserve treats.”

Then he released his grip on the flaming leash, and snarling filled the alleyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All dogs go to heaven, but a few of them come from hell first.  
> Dedicating this chapter to the cat who noped the fuck out.


	31. Purgatory

Ryan woke up. 

He rolled over with a groan, slapping a heavy hand over his alarm clock until it stopped beeping. For a minute he laid there in the coziness of his bed. Then he hauled himself upright and peeled back the covers. 

Too tired to fuss with a full breakfast, Ryan slipped two pieces of bread in the toaster and headed into the bathroom while they cooked. He went about his usual routine. Used the toilet, washed his hands, splashed some water on his face to try and shake off the last vestigials of sleep. 

He glanced briefly up at himself in the mirror. Then he flinched and his eyes shot back up in alarm.

A face reflected back at him that wasn’t his. Sure, it looked vaguely like Ryan. Some parts of it were recognisable. It had the same jaw and nose. But this face was hidden by black and white paint in a cartoonish rendering of a skull. Black rimmed eyes looked back at him, the almost icy blue a stark contrast to Ryan’s more natural colour. 

Ryan stared. For a moment he didn’t dare take his eyes off the reflection, as if afraid it would jump out at him. Then he quickly glanced around the bathroom. Was this a prank? There were no signs of cameras, and nobody laughed. 

Brow furrowed, Ryan turned back to the mirror. He cautiously lifted a hand to his face, and his reflection copied it. His own face was unblemished, but in the mirror, the fingers that dragged down his cheek caused streaks of white paint. Ryan touched under his eyes and looked at his hand. He half expected to see black staining his fingers. But they were perfectly clean.

Ryan looked back at the mirror. His mouth fell open in confusion as he leaned in and the reflection did the same. Soon his nose was only inches away from the skull. Ryan inspected the mirror for some sort of trick. Something had to be covering it, so he reached up to run his fingers over the glass.

It turned to liquid at his touch and surged up to cover his hand. 

Ryan startled backwards but his arm was stuck fast, and then he felt something tugging at him from the other side. He was yanked forward. One hand slammed against the frame in an attempt to hold himself back from the mirror. His foot hit the wall and he strained, trying to pull away.

The grip on his hand tugged again and Ryan lurched forward, sinking in up to his shoulder. The skull face was right in front of him, staring impassively. A ripple spread across the mirror. When the distortion settled it was just Ryan looking back, face twisted and sweating. 

Then he was pulled forward once more, and the mirror grew to swallow him.

 

Ryan woke up, and somebody was shaking his shoulder.

“Come on, snap out of it!” a female voice said urgently. 

The familiarity of it made him frown and pry his eyelids open. He was leaning against the wall of a shipping container. Meg was crouched beside him, but she looked so different from how he knew her. She had a heavy helmet on and wore thick body armour. From the tightness around his chest Ryan assumed he was wearing something similar. 

She also had a gun in her other hand. With a start, Ryan realised he held one as well, hands clenched around the rifle in his lap.

“There you are,” Meg said, relaxing slightly as he looked around in confusion. 

“Is this a dream?” he asked her.

Her nose wrinkled. “No, dummy. You got too close to a concussion grenade and it knocked you flat. Are you alright?”

Well that explained the ringing in his ears. Still confused, Ryan nodded numbly and immediately Meg rose. She held out a hand and he took it on instinct. Once she’d pulled him to his feet she returned her grip to her gun.

“Come on,” she told him. “I took out the guy who got you, but I heard some shooting to the east. We should get to the safe zone before they come pick us off.”

Ryan followed her without question. They ducked between shipping containers, constantly checking for danger. Ryan had held a gun before, but that didn’t explain the easy way that he checked his ammunition, the practiced manner with which he swapped out scopes and clips. 

But there wasn’t time to think about that. He felt as if an entirely different persona had settled over him like a second skin. Later, he could analyse it, but for now he was going to ride these new instincts until they were out of danger.

They found a car and Ryan immediately took the driver’s seat. In the same second Meg slid into the passenger side and swung her weapon around to watch behind them. They were in perfect sync. He started the engine and headed for the safe zone, only changing course at Meg’s suggestions. 

“Wait, drop!” Meg called over the motor suddenly.

“What?” Ryan asked, easing up on the accelerator. 

“Supply drop. Stop the car.”

They got out and he realised what she was talking about. There was a giant crate in the middle of an open field. Ryan’s skin prickled. Meg seemed just as nervous, scanning the surrounding treeline for danger.

“It looks clear,” she said slowly. Her eyes turned on the crate, a dark want flickering in them.

“That’s a death trap,” Ryan told her, the words rolling off his tongue without any experience to back them up. Still, he knew them to be true.

“I’ll go slow. Cover me.”

He bit off a protest and went back to checking their surroundings. No heads or shadows peeked out from behind the trees. All signs indicated that it was safe. Their prize to be won. But still Ryan felt anxious. He was glad that Meg ducked low in the grass, creeping her way forward inch by careful inch. 

Just as she got within range of the crate, something caught Ryan’s eye. The barest glint of sunlight on metal from the trees. Heart lurching, Ryan snapped his gun up and fired off a shot into the air.

Predictably Meg ducked at the sound, immediately taking cover by the crate. The downside was that now whoever was hiding in the trees knew that they’d lost the element of surprise. They started firing, bullets pelting the ground where Meg was hiding. Ryan saw her quickly shuffle around the crate to get out of their view. She was pinned down, and Ryan still couldn’t see the people shooting at her.

Thinking fast, Ryan hopped into the car and took off with a roar of the engine. His tyres bounced over a slope. Ryan didn’t slow down, driving straight for the crate before slamming the breaks and drifting in front of it. A few bullets pinged off the side as Ryan leapt out. He ran and slid to a stop next to Meg. She was holding a hand to her arm, red steadily seeping through her fingers.

“I’m alright,” she told him through gritted teeth. “Only shallow, but the bitches got me.”

Ryan heard another bullet send shards splitting off the crate. Now he could triangulate where their attackers were hiding. He didn’t doubt that if he stuck his head out it would get blown off in a heartbeat. His thoughts reeled, doing some quick math.

“How’s your aim?” he asked Meg.

Her expression turned disgusted. “How dare you.”

“Unaffected, then?” He couldn’t help but grin in response to her glaring. Ryan glanced back at the car, engine still running. Then he peeled her hand away from the wound and wrapped a quick bandage around it.

“When I say so,” he explained, eyes on his task, “Run for the car. I’ll draw their fire.”

Her fingers clamped down around his arm, painfully tight.

“No,” she rejected.

“Listen-”

“I’m not leaving you Ry. Don’t even say something so stupid.”

Ryan shook his head, huffing out a laugh before he continued. 

“You go,” he said, forging on when she opened her mouth to protest. “Drive out of view, then sneak around and pick them off. You’ve got a better gun and better long-range aim than I do. And I’ve got enough bullets to hold out.”

Her protests died, gaze sharpening. He watched her think it over. No doubt she knew their chances of making it out alive any other way. 

“Don’t you die,” she warned him.

“Meg, please. Would I do that to you?”

She rolled her eyes, face pale with pain. Then she picked up her gun and got to a crouch. Ready. 

“When I say,” Ryan told her. Meg nodded. Her eyes stayed on him for a minute, as if memorising his face, before she turned her attention to the car. 

Ryan lifted his gun and braced himself.

“Go.”

Meg took off, and as she did so Ryan leaned around the side of the crate and laid down a constant burst of fire towards the trees. There were a few answering bullets that went wide. But for the most part it seemed like their attackers had taken cover. For the moment. Behind him, Ryan heard wheels spin against dirt as Meg tore off away from him. 

Ryan spared a moment to be grateful that her injured arm didn’t impact her driving. When she was far enough away he ducked back behind the crate for a breather. He leaned against it and watched until the car was long out of sight.

Ryan took a deep breath. 

He stepped out from behind the crate again, and fired until his gun clicked empty. Something small and blazing hot split his chest open and shattered its way through his heart. Ryan hit the ground before he felt the wound. Then the pain hit and his vision went dark.

 

Ryan woke up.

He stretched languorously, yawning in the patch of sunlight he’d been lazing in. Lips peeled back over sharp, needle-like teeth. His whiskers twitched.

Hang on.

“Hey buddy,” Lindsay said as she stepped into the room. 

She _towered_ over him. Which made sense, because Ryan was, at the moment, a cat. He just sat for a moment, reeling over this epiphany. Before he could truly panic he felt hands around him, scooping him up. The floor dropped away from him.

“Are you ready to go home?” she asked, tucking Ryan into her arms. “I think you’ve learned your lesson, huh?”

She carried him over to the table and showed him the posters she had printed out. All of them had pictures of a black cat with white face markings resembling a skull. The caption read ‘Answers to Vagabond’ and listed a phone number. 

Information flooded Ryan’s head upon seeing it. Of course. This was the witch who had transformed him. How could he have forgotten the weeks spent as her familiar, trapped in a furry body that took quite some time to get used to. At least now it looked like she was finally giving him back to his crew. Perhaps if Ryan was a very good kitty, she would turn him human again.

With that in mind he purred and rubbed his head against her chin. Their first few days together had been stressful, but really, being a cat wasn’t so bad. If he’d won the witch over and she returned him to his old life of crime, he might even consider this a nice holiday.

Lindsay smiled and scratched at his ears.

“Yeah? You want to come with me to hang these up?”

Ryan did. When Lindsay went out on the street that morning with her stack of flyers, Ryan stayed curled around her shoulders. His tail flicked lazily and tickled her nose. He twitched his nose at all of the fantastic smells coming to him. Scents he never noticed before the curse she laid upon him. 

Lindsay stapled another Lost Cat poster up. Ryan looked at it for a moment. Then somebody across the street caught his eye. He put his paws on Lindsay’s head and ignored the way she laughed at him. Ryan stood perked, ears straight up and tail gone straight. 

A familiar figure was strutting down the sidewalk. He wore civilian clothing, but there was no mistaking that colourful hair.

Jeremy! After so long away from his crew Ryan was overjoyed to see him. He dove off of Lindsay’s shoulder and darted away. She called after him but he ignored her, keeping pace with his former coworker. The man was bobbing his head like he was listening to music but did not have any headphones in. 

Ryan wanted to call out to him. All that came out was a yowling noise.

Still, Jeremy stopped and looked around with curiosity. As expected, Jeremy loved cats, and in that moment Ryan was thrilled. He wanted nothing more than to leap up onto the man’s shoulder and express just how much he’d missed him. 

He ran across the road. Another meow brought Jeremy’s gaze down and he finally locked eyes with the cat racing towards him. The man’s expression lit up. Then turned to one of horror. 

Ryan barely had a chance to wonder why he looked so upset. A car horn blew, and he turned his head in time to see a license plate before it hit him.

 

Ryan woke up.

Around the table a group of people were seated, crowns atop their heads and dressed in regal clothing. All of them looked at him expectantly. Ryan blinked. 

“What?” he blurted.

Michael shook his head at him. “Can you wake up, dumbass? We’re trying to do business.”

Geoff waved Michael down, looking at Ryan with concern. 

“You alright, Haywood? You’re looking a bit peaky.”

Ryan reached up and felt a crown on his own head. It was heavy and thorned, with carvings inlaid in the metal. His fingers brushed across the engravings reverently.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” he asked nobody, staring at the table. There were papers and maps strewn across it. The other kings were squinting at him now.

“Ryan,” Jeremy said slowly. “We’re talking about uniting our armies against the Pigmen. Remember?”

Ryan held his head. The impact of the car hitting him still resonated in his bones, sending his thoughts spinning. If he wasn’t already sitting down he might have passed out. As it was, he gripped the table tight enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Right,” he said weakly. “Right, I remember that.”

“Here, Ryan, have a drink. We’re almost done anyway.”

Jack poured a deep red liquid into his goblet and set it near him. Ryan took it in his hand but didn’t drink it just yet. He was still reeling from waking up in this place he wasn’t sure he understood. Regardless, the other rulers took it as a sign to carry on.

“So we’re all in agreement then?” Geoff asked the group when they’d talked out the last details of the war they were about to break out on the Nether. 

All of them chorused an agreement. Ryan joined in only a second late. Relaxing, Geoff leaned back from the table and picked up his cup. He smiled and lifted it in a toast.

“To victory,” he declared, and they all tapped their goblets together. “To freedom from fear.”

“To freedom,” Ryan echoed.

They all downed their drinks. Ryan hesitated just a beat before following their lead. It had a rich and oddly sweet taste, better than Ryan had been expecting. He smacked his lips in satisfaction, finally relaxing a little.

Then Gavin gagged. His eyes went startlingly wide and he clutched at his throat. Choking and gasping, he toppled from his chair. 

“Gavin?” Michael asked uncertainly, only to double over a second later. Jeremy followed soon after, then Geoff. Only Jack sat perfectly calm. He met Ryan’s eye, expression stony.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” he told Ryan, but he didn’t sound very sorry.

Mouth open, Ryan stared at him, then looked down at his cup. The dark liquid looked almost like blood, he thought hysterically before crumpling to the floor. 

 

Ryan woke up.

Then he woke up again.

And again.

Each time he was somewhere different. Each time it ended in tragedy. Each time, he would close his eyes, certain that this was the end, before finding himself in a completely new but no less worrying universe. He fought, he fell, he died.

Ryan woke up.

Ryan opened his eyes to a world of white snow.

Ryan came alert amongst a sea of stars.

Ryan turned over in a grave.

Ryan woke up.

He woke up in a box, cave, laboratory and stretched out his hands, wings, claws and grabbed for his gun, sword, friend until the details blurred. His lives overlapped, tangling like the threads of a tapestry torn to shreds only to be set on fire, and with it Ryan burned.

He burned so many times.

Ryan woke up.

 

He lost count of how many times he’d died. It never stuck. Caught in a loop, Ryan was forced to play out roles he’d never even dreamed of, all of them coming to a swift and unforgiving end soon after. Each death left an echo that he carried into the next life.

He saw his friends. He saw people who wore the faces of his friends but definitely were not friendly. They recycled, countless iterations of the people he once knew but was now unable to view as anything other than NPCs. Ryan was stuck for so long in this abomination of eternity that he felt his mind begin to crack a little more each time, only to snap back together whenever he drew his first breath.

A plate dropped from his hands and shattered.

An egg fell and the world shattered. 

Ryan hit the ground and shattered.

Ryan woke up.

 

Alfredo nudged him awake in the back of a car.

“Don’t go to sleep Ryan, we’re almost there.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Ryan, used to simply rolling with it by now. 

He looked around for context clues of where he had ended up in this time. The setting seemed pretty modern, with a bunch of them crammed into a car and driving through city streets. Ryan wore a black and blue jacket. He could feel beneath it that he was armed to the teeth, and a long ponytail of hair tickled the back of his neck. 

“Alrighty boys, here we go,” Trevor called from the front seat. The car came to a stop outside of a bank. Immediately they all began grabbing weapons and ducking out of the car. Ryan followed.

He barely paid attention as Jeremy kicked the door in and Geoff fired shots into the air. Although dying over and over again was horrifying, it sort of lost its novelty after a while. Ryan didn’t have enough energy left in him to dread a bullet. Instead he levelled his gun on one of the hostages and took in the room.

Michael was shouting the bank tellers into submission. Jack and Lindsay stayed by the door. There wasn’t much to do except stand and wait for them to finish cracking open the vault. Ryan fired a shot into the floor when one of the hostages moved, but otherwise didn’t pay much attention to them. 

His gaze wandered to the lavish decorations, the fancy lights. If they were going to pick a place to rob they certainly didn’t do things by halves.

And then Ryan turned and saw that one entire wall was a mirror. It was meant to give the illusion of space, making the room seem bigger and emphasising its grandeur. But Ryan looked at it and went still. The shouts of his crew faded into the background.

Staring back at him was an icy-eyed man with his face painted like a skull.

Ryan’s gun lowered slightly in shock. He’d almost forgotten his origins, he’d been trapped in this hellish purgatory for so long. But now the memories hit him like a tsunami. 

His free hand came up to touch his face, the action striking him with deja vu. This time, however, his fingers came away stained with paint.

Somebody was shouting his name. Ryan ignored it, abandoning the hostages in favour of gravitating towards the mirror wall. He walked slowly, feeling like he was moving through water. His reflection reached out and met his fingers against the glass.

“ _Ryan what the hell are you doing?_ ”

His grip went slack and his gun hit the floor. Ryan placed both hands on the mirror. He pushed, but was met with resistance. Somebody fired their gun behind him and he didn’t flinch, not even when Jack cursed and the sound of sirens rose up in the distance.

“ _We’ve got to go! Ryan!_ ”

He leaned back and smashed his fists against the glass. It rippled. Ryan hauled back and struck it again.

On the third time, his hand sank into the mirror. Just barely, immediately pulling up short. But Ryan leaned all of his weight into it. While people shouted behind him and the police drew nearer, Ryan ignored it all and forced his way deeper into the glass. It gradually melted at his touch, allowing him in.

When he was buried up to his wrists, molten silver hands extended from the mirror. They pushed at him. Fingers hooked into his mouth and tilted his head back, away from the glass. Hands shoved his legs and shoulders. 

Ryan fought against them. It was a slow battle, them trying their hardest to keep him at bay while he leaned everything he had into their grip. The mirror swallowed him up to the elbows, then his shoulders.

Then the hands snapped backwards and dragged him into silver depths.

 

Ryan woke up, and immediately toppled off his bathroom sink and onto the ground. Cold tiles met his cheek. He hissed painfully. Then he rolled himself onto his back and looked around. 

He was home. Ryan almost didn’t recognise it, but there was his toothbrush, and his favourite bottle of aftershave, and the sticky note reminding him to get groceries after work. It was so harmlessly domestic that his brain almost couldn’t comprehend it. He laid there and waited for the other shoe to drop.

From the kitchen he heard a ding as his toast popped up. Ryan let his head drop back. 

Heart slowing, he closed his eyes, and hoped to God that he didn’t wake up.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! It's all done! Please let me know what your favourite chapter was if you've been following along, I'd love to hear.
> 
> This was quite the undertaking and got hairy in some places. But overall I'm proud that I managed to stick with it, and glad that some of you enjoyed it. If you're one of the people who left comments throughout this, know that I adore you. 
> 
> Also to Ryan- _I'm so sorry my dude._


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